CHAPTER 16: Meant For Each Other

"This is it. I'm positive." Ron said, standing outside Hermione's gate.

"Yeah, like how you said that the other two places you took us to," George said.

"How can you be so sure this time 'ickle Ronnikins?" Fred teased.

"Because I also agree with Ron," a familiar voice said behind them. Ginny spun around in surprise, but saw nothing. "Charlie?" she said aloud. Her brother dropped his hood, and smiled.

"Yes, the one and only. Ron's right, Harry is here, check out the cool motorbike Sirius left for him." He pointed to it in the open garage. "Go on, ring the bell, they're home. Don't tell them you saw me though." He put back on his hood and vanished.

"Well that's that, we're at the right place," Ron said, very much relieved. He pressed the button on the wall.

Harry was looking for Hermione when he heard the doorbell ring. He was near the staircase looking over the family room and he saw her father get up from his chair and head to the door. The next instant Hermione came out of the kitchen and went to investigate. She looked out the window and grinned.

"It's Ron and the others!" she beat her father to the door and opened it, going outside. A short while later all of them were back inside the house, and Harry was waiting downstairs for them. They were all introduced again to Hermione's dad. When he went inside the kitchen they all looked at Harry, who was standing a bit apart from them.

Ron and Harry glared at each other for a second; a very tense silence ensued. Harry broke it first, "Hey," he said in greeting.

"Hey," Ron replied. He seemed to run through a number of thoughts in his head. His cold demeanour broke. "Glad you're okay man," he smiled, relief evident in his voice. Harry broke out in a big smile too. The tension dissipated, as everyone seemed to be waiting with baited breath as to what would happen next. "You lucky bugger, come here, you must be the best escape artist I know!" he gave Harry a brotherly hug, and put his arm around his neck, taking him in a mock headlock. "So when were you going to tell me you got Sirius' motorbike? Huh? Come on, you've got to show it to me," dragging him outside. The others followed, laughing.

At the same time Cho Chang was at home talking with her friends from Hogwarts. They were babbling about how dreamy Harry is and how lucky she was to be playing on the same team as him, far less to be actually hooking up with him. She kept quiet, realising that these were the same people who were giving her grief about Harry when he was just another boy in Hogwarts, and never as much gave him a second glance. Now that he was playing Quidditch for England they were actually fawning over him? Apparently they only liked him now because everyone was talking about him, not because they knew who he was as a person. She felt quite disgusted at hearing them talk about him as if he were some piece of meat, like those celebrities on television. But one thing they said was true, he was definitely a catch, and that he was worth fighting for.

"Guys, you've got to help me. I want to throw him a birthday party. His birthday is Sunday, and it's got to be wicked. So no holds barred, we're going all out. All right?" she begged. They all agreed, giggling how they're going to invite all the boys they were trying to hook up with. Cho smiled inwardly.

Granger, you've got a fight on your hands. Its on now, I'm not losing him again.

Cho got down to the planning and organizing she would need to do. This is what she excelled at, analysing a situation and dealing with it in a rational and sequential order. Only thing to really worry about was that trial on Friday.

Harry lay in bed late that evening, the afternoon was a blast. They all took turns trying to ride the motorbike up and down the quiet street as cars rarely passed there. Fred and George were the last to get the hang of it, while Ginny seemed to be a natural, much to the twins' embarrassment. He had never laughed so hard in his life as he saw the twins struggle; falling off the bike like drunkards. Even Hermione fared a bit better, but not by much. After her first fall she decided she would watch until she figured out what to do. They were all having fun, there were no underlying secrets and crushes and prejudices to damper their spirits. The trio all compared their owl results (Harry didn't have his results slip but memorized them already) and talked about nothing in particular, just enjoying the company and the easy atmosphere. No one talked about Alastor Moody or the Warlock, it was still a touchy subject and Harry was in such a good mood they decided not to mention it. But it never left Harry's thoughts- how could it? Through all the smiles and jokes he could feel it creeping in the back of his mind.

There was someone out to assassinate him. Also, there was the court case. And now Hermione and he had kissed.

After the Weasleys left he couldn't muster up the courage to talk to her about what happened earlier, or anything else for that matter. They left pretty late and Hermione excused herself to get ready for bed. Just the fact that she was sleeping in the room across the hall was adding to his already jumbled thoughts. Did she still think that he was upset with her? I hope not, we joked normally and talked as cool as ever so I guess she's okay, he thought. He closed his eyes, and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Hermione was also in bed, wide awake. The events of today ran through her head. She couldn't sleep, the little session Harry had outside with the sword was troubling her. That sword was a danger to Harry- she could feel it. As soon as she came up to her room she sent a letter to Dumbledore about her fears. Since she could not sleep, she might as well try and find some information on wizards who used weapons other than their wands. Getting up from her bed, she went to the desk and got to work. After nearly two hours passed she glanced at her clock, it was closing in on half one. It was tough, she was narrowing down on her research, but nothing conclusive really came up. What she really needed was "The Rise and fall of Godric Gryffindor", the book Dumbledore used to tell them about Harry's newfound magic.

As she wearily got back into bed ready to call it a night, suddenly she felt the faint hairs on her arms tingle. Her hair rustled next, then there was an intense pain in her forehead where Harry's scar would have been. She squeezed her eyes shut, and began to fight off the presence that seemed to be trying to get past her into Harry's thoughts. Voldemort's dark aura was pounding inside her head but she fought, and after what seemed like an eternity, yet did not even last fifteen seconds, did it subside.

That was a direct attempt to get into Harry's mind! Voldemort must be looking for him, she deduced. The pain in her head was gone, but she could still feel the power emanating from the next room. The Charm had come alive when it felt the malice threatening him. She sprung up from the bed and dashed across the hall into the guest room. Sure enough, Harry was radiating tremendous amount of energy.

Harry lay there, unnaturally still. "Harry?" she called. He did not answer her. She nudged him, but he did not wake. Shaking him hard now, she began to get worried. Opening one of his eyelids, she saw the blue halo of light glowing in his eye. Dumbledore told her that until Harry learned to harness his magic, he should never be under the influence of Solidus' power for too long, just as a precaution. So therefore, she needed to re-connect the link in between them as Harry had absolutely no control now. He was asleep, and that trance-like state was preventing him awaking. But to use her blossoming Occlumency spell she needed eye contact. Hermione climbed on the bed, and straddled him.

"Hope this works," she said aloud. She leaned down onto him so that their faces were inches apart. She opened his eyelids with her hands. "Leglimens!"

It was hard, her mind was already drained from fighting off that dark presence. The charm was fighting her off, and Harry's mind was presently closed to her. She pressed on further, her breathing becoming more shallow with the amount of mental effort it took. She stared directly into those glowing eyes and pushed with all her strength. Yes! She got past his Occlumency training, and now all she had to do was to bring him out of that trance! Closing her eyes and interlocking her fingers with his, Hermione found out that this spell worked better when there was physical contact either with the hands or over the heart. Her energy seemed to be draining at an alarming speed and she was struggling to maintain mental contact. She scrunched up her eyes in concentration; and as every second passed she knew he was losing him.

She felt him slipping, and the defensive nature of the charm inevitably closing off any entry into his mind. Her hands and torso were going numb, Harry thought of her as a threat and Hermione felt an increasing pressure on her body as it was going to physically repel her from him as it once did to Moody. Even against that strange and uncomfortable sensation, Hermione held unto him even tighter, pressing her body flush against him, trying to get as much contact as possible. If she failed, Harry may be caught in this trance forever. Using the remainder of her strength she concentrated, her brow now becoming damp with perspiration. It was not going to work!

"Harry!" she whispered desperately. "Help me!"

At her words she felt the touch of his mind, and energy surged through her body, erasing any sort of fatigue. There was a feeling of magic pooling inside of her, and her eyes began to glow softly.

"You can do it," Harry's voice whispered in the back of her mind. Those words empowered her, and with a final surge of mental energy pushed the charm back and re-established contact, bringing Harry out of the death-like trance. She moaned loudly, the effort drained all her strength, her eyes rolled into her head. Her magic spent, Hermione passed out on top of him, utterly exhausted. They both laid there, utterly still, Harry still fast asleep.

A few hours later into the night, Harry tried to roll over. Strange enough, his limbs were not responding as they should, and something heavy was on top of him. Also, someone's hair was tickling his nose and the right side of his face. Putting two and two together, he opened his eyes in a flash. Hermione was asleep ON TOP OF HIM! He couldn't believe it- but there she was: Hermione nestled on his chest, sleeping soundly. He could feel her heartbeat and the slow rhythm of her breathing. Everything about her flooded his senses, how she felt, her smell, the sound of her breathing, her softness warm and cosy on his body. Harry poked himself hard in his side, and the pain was real, so he knew he was not dreaming. When did she come inside here? And no matter how deep asleep he was he was sure he would have felt if someone crawled on top of him and decided to nap there. Utterly perplexed, he nudged her.

"Hermione?" he whispered. She groaned softly and buried herself closer unto him. Harry closed his eyes; this was sweet torture if nothing else. He eased himself out from under her and gently laid her on the bed. She was fast asleep, her hair sprawled all over his pillow. He lay on his side, watching her sleep. Harry decided against waking her, she was an angel, his personal guardian angel. He smiled, and soon fell asleep, utterly oblivious to what happened during the night.

Hermione woke up around nine o'clock in the morning. She was back in her bedroom, and neatly tucked in. As she sat up in bed, her whole body felt like a blown out fuse, if she could imagine what a blown out fuse felt like. Her head hurt, she had pins and needles all over. Her long brown hair fell about her as she squinted at the clock. Frowning, she never got up so late. Feeling too beat to even get out of bed she plopped right back down unto her pillow. There was a new post message on her desk from Professor Dumbledore, but couldn't muster the strength to even reach for it. Closing her eyes, she tried to get some more rest.

Harry and Mr. Granger were outside in the garage. Mr. Granger was very interested in Harry's new bike. He was telling Harry about which part did what and all about the mechanics of the engine. They talked about the different types of engines and all sort of other bike-related jargon, Harry learning about his new set of wheels. Roger looked down at his watch and frowned at the time.

"Hmmm- it's nine o'clock. How come Hermione isn't up yet?" he eyed Harry. Harry looked up at him and shrugged. Roger gave him a speculative look. "Anyway, I have to be at the office for ten, so I better get going. Later, then." He took out his keys, got into his car, and drove out the gate. As Harry was closing the gate for him he turned down the window. "I'm watching you," he said jokingly, and drove off. Harry watched him go, waving a bit hesitantly.

"Good thing he wasn't watching last night," he said, grinning.

He had probably the best night's sleep in years after he awoke and found her sleeping on top of him. For some reason, none of the disturbing dreams about the department of mysteries or the dementors or any of his regular nightmare creatures haunted him. He slept like a baby until the morning when he got up, picked up Hermione and took her to her bedroom. It was no easy feat, he was still a skinny boy and Solidus' charm was not at his beck and call. Hermione didn't even realize she was being carried, but she did curl up into him when he was straining to carry her down the hall. She was driving him nuts, and that episode last night did not help matters. God, she felt wonderful on top of him. His feelings for Hermione were in a tangled mess, he was torn between wanting to be with her, and telling Ron what was going on. She was dominating his thoughts. Why was she in his bed? What was she really up to?

"Aaargh, I can't stand it!" a very disgruntled Ginny Weasley was complaining to her mother. "How come he gets to stay by Hermione? Damn."

Ron silently agreed. He was pissed, but trivial things like this were nowhere compared to what Harry was going through. Fuck it, the man was fighting for his life every other day, jealousy amongst the three of them is not going to help matters. He really was glad he came out of that mess at Sirius' house okay but the proximity he had with Hermione was really getting to him. He knew Harry won't do anything to deliberately hurt their friendship but Hermione was so damn fine now he had to be made of ice not to notice. So he stayed quiet while Ginny grumbled about Harry not paying her any attention, but also sympathized with her.

"I mean, he could always come here and stay - we could play quidditch," she added hastily when her mother sent her a stern look.

Fred snuck up between Ginny and Ron and whispered, " Or maybe some bedroom contact sports, eh Ginny?" smirking. Ginny flushed red and began raining lashes on him. Fred pranced away, chuckling.

"I thought you and Dean were an item," Ron said.

"It was, but next to him it's like no comparison, its like BMX versus Aston Martin. Face it Ron, your mate Harry is damn ho-!"

"OKAY! OKAY! I GET THE IDEA! Stop drooling all over the place, its disgusting..." Ron said, putting his chin on his knuckles. If Ginny thought he was hot, then the chances of Hermione liking him... He sighed and pounded his fist on the table. He should make a move, but after all this time he's being trying to up and say something he never did. What made him think he could do it now?

Cho was at her desk, writing a letter. She was busy last night making a potion whose scent will drive guys nuts. It was one of those things your mother said she'd never used while they were at school but we all knew better. When you wanted a man, he was yours, and hell hath no fury as a woman scorned- or so they say. The elixir was a powerful potion, but she knew by tricking Harry she would be worse off in the long run, the sorting hat did not put her in Ravenclaw by chance. So she wrote her letter to Harry, telling him that she will be throwing a party for him on Sunday.

After she was finished, she read it over and thought it was okay. Spraying a slight touch of the perfume onto the paper, she sent it off with her owl. Biting her bottom lip she crossed her fingers and quickly made a wish. Hoping that things will turn out peachy, she got up and went downstairs for lunch. There were still preparations to do for Sunday.

Harry was outside, practicing with the sword. He was there since this morning, trying to sweat out all that has been going through his head. He was getting used to the charm now, and made a lot of progress in keeping himself in control. Realizing that he still did not have any change of clothes as yet, he took of his shirt and was doing a kata in the midday sun, the exercise giving him something to do except brood about things. It was a brilliant day, and the sword subconsciously guided him into making the right moves and steps in simple attack and defence techniques. Just wielding the sword and doing the moves so fluently was invigorating. He kept on training, the sun beating heavily on him. Looking up, he saw an owl approaching him. It glided low, and dropped an envelope into his waiting hands. Who was this from? He opened it and read:

Hey,

How are you doing? I may have been a little abrupt last week but the truth and fact of the matter is, I miss you. I don't want us to fight again. Those first few days at the manor were great, and now I may have ruined it all by getting all riled up before practice that morning.

Hear what, I want to make it up to you. I'm throwing you a birthday party Sunday, turning sixteen is, y'know a major event. I've planned out everything; I just need you to say yes. That's all. Say yes. I can't wait to see you again, and I'll invite all of our friends, including Ron. He's actually okay; now that I've gotten to know him a bit better, and I would love for everyone to come.

Send a reply with this owl, it's going to be a night we'll never forget!
Love, Cho.

The scent that permeated from the parchment enraptured his senses and he was already heading inside into the study to answer her reply before he even knew what he was doing. He sat down and began writing his response. So caught up into writing the letter that he did not hear someone enter the study behind him.

"Morning," Hermione said sleepily. "What are you doing?" He shot up and hid Cho's note behind his back.

Don't make it look like you're guilty Harry, be cool, be cool.

"Er- just writing a letter…" he replied.

Hermione just stared for a second, Harry was standing there bareback, his muscles all toned as if he just had a good workout. She felt a warmth creep down into her stomach and heat rise up her face. She cleared her throat slightly and asked politely, "May I ask to whom?"

Harry was gaping openly, she was wearing that same modest nightgown from before, and it just so happened that the light was streaming in the doorway just right for him to see through the soft material. Her hair fell around her face and she had on a sort of secretive expression. She wasn't wearing a bra: that was for certain.

Be cool Harry, be cool…

He glanced downwards. It did not do any good, he was sure she would notice if he stood here any longer. He had to say something. What did she ask him? He searched his memory, Ah! It was about- his eyes dipped of their own accord to her body and he forgot again. Damn! Wait, he was holding a letter in his hand, he was going to a party on Sunday. HIS birthday party in fact.

"Wannagotoapartyon Sunday?" he asked, tying his tongue.

"Isn't Sunday your birthday? Sure! Who's throwing it?"

She came up close to him and tried to look around him to see the letter on the table. Harry stepped left when she stepped right, then stepped right when she went the other way, effectively blocking her. She was closing in now, inching him back to the edge of the desk. He could smell the shampoo in her hair, the nightgown fluttering against his knees. Hermione tried to reach around him, but he picked up the letter and kept it behind his back, out of her reach. He was playing games with her, she thought, smiling. She grabbed his right arm out from behind him, but he switched hands and now held it away from her in his left. She immediately stretched for it, brushing her nipples against his bare chest. That rubbing sensation excited her, and they both froze; Hermione looking up into his face. Harry was breathing a bit faster than before, and his natural heat penetrated through her comfortable nightwear. The hand that held his arm took on a different touch now and she let her fingertips play against him, resting softly on his sun-warmed skin. She inched in closer to him, her eyes level with his lips, her breath exhaling softly on his neck. The barely-there contact was driving Harry nuts and he breathed in deeply, getting very aroused. Resting her hand on his stomach she pressed slightly against him. There was a slight catch in her breath and she glanced down. Harry stood there, quite still, he didn't know what she was thinking. She looked back into his eyes, and leant in closer, her soft breasts flush against him. Half closing her eyelids she parted her lips-

"Hermione! You've got a package from Professor Dumbledore!" her mother called out, obviously looking for her. Hermione jumped back a few inches, turning a pretty colour of scarlet. They kind of dodged each other's gaze, and she spun around and hastened out of the room. Harry watched her leave, her hips swaying under the loose garment. How could white panties be so damn sexy? Looking down at the letter in his hand again he groaned.

Sunday was going to be a night to remember all right.

Hours later, Hermione was keeping herself busy in her bedroom, reading up on the book Dumbledore just sent her. She was lying on her side, her head propped on her hand, turning the pages halfheartedly. After the first ten minutes she could barely concentrate, Harry was only interrupting her train of thought. She knew that the information she needed was in these pages, but she flicked them absentmindedly, reciting in her head (he likes me, he likes me not) as each page fell. She wasn't so certain now that if it was a right idea to bear out her heart to him the other day, he did tell her how much she meant to him; but didn't actually say if he loved her or even liked her in that sort of way. She could have figured out what was going on between him and Cho in their fifth year, but that was from an outsider's point of view. Now that she was mixed up with him it was all a blur. She sighed and fell back on the bed, dreamily looking up at the ceiling. What she wouldn't give for an open admission of his true feelings for her! She wanted him to say something conclusive, make it known what his intentions were. Obviously he is attracted to me, but so was disgusting Dudley and even Malfoy was sleazy towards her. She wasn't so naïve that she didn't know guys found her pretty, but guys found a lot of girls pretty. Maybe she did not have the sexy exotic look that Chang did, but she had her strong points too, she mused.

Why doesn't he say something! Anything! Now she was too embarrassed to go and talk to him like before, that line between being just friends has now been rubbed out in the dirt. I wonder what he's doing now? Hermione, just get up and go talk to him! But her body refused to listen to her. All it was doing was instinctively recalling how he felt against her, and how that warm feeling traversed through her. Her sensitivity rose up a notch, and she smiled by how just the thought of him touching her could create that response. She sighed again, closed her eyes, and soon fell asleep.

The next two days were absolute torture for Harry. His court case was on Friday and he was dead scared to go to Azkaban if (and he prayed to god that it won't happen), found guilty. Hermione was acting strangely around him and not really meeting his eye. It was like they couldn't be in the same room together without things getting awkward. Well he wasn't helping really either; Ron told him that he liked Hermione, obviously he needed to check him to let him on what was going on, but he couldn't do it, he knew if he told him the truth that things would get ugly. From the way they stared each other down the other day this wasn't one of those "what's mine is yours" kind of situations. His head was in a mess, his heart was torn between doing what he wanted and consideration for Ron, his brain was focusing on Friday, the man downstairs was focusing on Hermione, and his mouth just couldn't say what he wanted it to say. The hours flew past like seconds, the days flew past like minutes, and way too soon Thursday night was upon them, and Harry was freaking out. He needed to talk to his friends, but the few-syllable conversations, or to be more precise, the exchange of one-word chit chat with Hermione was not cutting it. He could remember easily the first conversation after the almost-kiss, it was the next day:

"Hey."

"Hey."

Silence.

"Dumbledore sent you a package?"

"Umm- yeah."

Crickets chirping in the background.

"What is it?"

"A book."

Another pause. Both of them opened their mouths at the same time, then shut it. More silence.

"Okay. Is it good?"

"Haven't started yet."

"Oh. Want breakfast?"

"Yeah." She nodded. It was infuriating, and the fact is, they both had so much to say to each other and neither could really let it out, it would have been so easier if they just met, but there were no hidden agendas between them, no unknown history, no 'get-to-know-you-more' conversations. It was as if it was the hardest thing to bring up the topic of there actually being a 'them'.

Now I know how Ron feels. Jeez buddy, how could you have taken months of this?

The attraction between them was so strong Hermione's parents were getting almost fed up of their skirting each other, they just wish they did something about these tense moments. Harry spent as much time as possible outdoors, tooling around with his motorbike, or practicing using the sword. Every time he stopped doing something, he was taken back to all those instances they had between them and his pants got painfully tight. His hormones was raging like wildfire and he just did not know how to approach one of his best friends of five years. What he needed was some advice. But who did he know he could talk to but still have a impartial view on things? Tonight it was too late, he couldn't really concentrate on that, tomorrow was D-day. At least Hagrid dropped off his stuff and he no longer had to worry about clothes. He paced his room over and over, until he finally just decided to take a warm bath and get some sleep. He came out the guest room shower, feeling a bit more relaxed.

Hermione was at that moment on the other side of the bedroom door, pacing silently up and down the hall. Go on! Tell him how you feel! He little angel conscience said. Another voice said, Forget about it, you'd only embarrass yourself. She bit her bottom lip, sometimes reaching as far as inside her bedroom doorway before coming back in the hall to resume her pacing. Hermione! Stop being so pathetic! Just do it! She burst inside his bedroom.

Harry paused, his towel around his waist, his hands in another towel drying his hair. Hermione froze, he smelt great and his tan was gorgeous, not to mention the way his still-damp hair fell into his eyes. They stood there, two feet apart, for what seemed like eternity.

'Harry-" she began, completely forgetting the speech she memorized. The doorbell rang. It distracted them and she looked back out the door.

"Leave it, your dad will get it," he said getting closer to her. He needed to take her in his arms, and do away with words. His hands were on her waist, his thumbs gently rubbing her bare midriff. He closed the distance between them-

"Harry! Professor Dumbledore is here to see you!" Mr. Granger said from the top of the staircase, dangerously close. They shot back from each other, and once again, Hermione bolted out the door. "This is definitely NOT one of those 'in-the-nick-of-time' times, Professor," he grumbled, frustrated beyond belief. He quickly dressed, and went downstairs.

"Ah Harry, how are you doing?" Dumbledore smiled.

"Fine," he said, not wanting to create a scene in front of everybody. He definitely was NOT 'fine': he was scared shitless about tomorrow and Hermione was driving him insane. He smiled back at him for good measure and they sat down.

"I know you are nervous, anyone would be. But things are looking up, the article in the Quibbler did more good than we imagined. Even if people were still unsure about you, that article did away with any doubt. Because of you there are nine Death Eaters in custody and everyone now fully believes that Voldemort is back. You have nothing to worry about, Harry."

Harry smiled at this, this indeed was good news. Even so, all the recent events still plagued him. "How's Alastor dong?" he asked.

Dumbledore frowned, "They are still trying I'm afraid. The magical healing techniques are not keeping his wounds closed. Even the Warlock's blade and the damage it inflicts is impervious to magic, we need to find another way."

Harry pursed his lips. The mention of his new enemy's blade brought his thoughts back to his own mysterious weapon. "Professor -about that sword you gave me," Harry said, not quite sure the question he wanted to ask him," Uh- do you know anything more about it?"

Dumbledore hesitated. Hermione mailed him telling him she had fears about that sword, but he himself could not muster an explanation about it. All of this was new to him as well, as it was only a legend, and not all legends were true. But, it seems, this one was.

"I'm sorry Harry, I really do not know anything more specific about it. I do know that no one after Solidus Gryffindor has possessed it until you defeated the Basilisk, when it materialized in the hat. It has sat up in the Headmaster's office since I can remember."

Harry was a bit surprised. Dumbledore did not know about something? He always seemed so infallible. Well, I guess no one can know everything. He nodded in reply.

"I also came here to give you something." He gave him a package. "It is a birthday present from the Order, but it also serves a practical purpose. Open it."

Harry got up and opened the neatly wrapped package. It was a cloak of some sort. He held it aloft, it was a heavy, dark black cloak, made of what he must believe was dragon hide. It felt very magical, and there was an aura of prestige about it. "What is this?" he asked.

"That, my boy, was your father's. It is the uniform of the original Order of the Phoenix, our battle armour and symbol of who we were. We believe, considering all that you have been through and all that you have done for everyone, you deserve it. Not many have even seen the Dark Lord, not to mention duelled with him -and survived. Including you, only Alastor and myself have done this. Do not ever doubt your abilities, Harry Potter." He smiled grimly and nodded.

Harry's heart swelled with pride, the Order was handing down his father's cloak to him. He held it close to him' he still missed them dearly, and this gesture was too much. He could see the little magical inscription on the collar, it read: Potter, James.

"It is made of the hide of the Ice dragon from Antarctica, woven with the tail hair from a male unicorn and lined with feathers of a Phoenix. This is one of the best defensive garments made. It will deflect minor spells with ease, and halve the effects of direct curses and hexes. There is no defence against the unforgivables, remember that. The remaining active members of the original Order will be here in the morning to escort you to the Ministry of magic. We will all wear this, and will be honoured if you don this cloak as a symbol of our defiance against Voldemort and his Supporters." He got up and nodded once again, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I must be off. Sleep well." He went out the door, and Harry could hear the popping noise as he dissaparated.

Harry stood there, still too awed to move. This really was his father's cloak, and they thought highly enough of him to give this to him for his sixteenth birthday. He looked down at the cloak in his hands; there was the faint outline of a phoenix bursting from the flames on the back if you stared hard enough. His spirits were at an all time high, he could not have asked for a better gift. Turning, he went to show Hermione the cloak.

Hermione was upstairs, feeling a bit guilty about eavesdropping on their conversation. She heard him coming up the steps, and ran inside of her bedroom, pretending to be reading a book. After a few seconds there was a soft knock on her door.

"Come in, it's open."

"Hey," Harry said, still feeling a bit awkward in her room. The memories of their only kiss he could remember came flooding back to him.

"Hey," she replied. She glanced at the cloak in his hands.

"Look what the Professor gave me, it was my father's." He handed it to her.

Hermione took it carefully; she knew it meant the world to him. He was staring at her, and amazingly, she blushed. She could not believe that after five years he now had this ability to make her feel like a little schoolgirl with a huge crush. Harry noticed it too, and smiled. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her. Strange, he had no fear of charging into the Department of Mysteries, fully knowing that Voldemort would be there, waiting for him, but he was locked between making a move- or chickening out. Chiding himself, he mustered his courage. He sat down very close to her on the edge of the bed. Her eyes widened a bit, and they looked deep into each other's eyes.

It was a moment stuck in time, and neither breathed, fearing it would break the spell between them. He took the cloak out of her hands, and rest it aside. He raised his hand, and lightly tucked away a lock of hair behind her ear that escaped and was falling at the side of her face. The gesture was so sweet; she smiled tenderly at him. He took her hands in his, and gently urged her to stand up. She complied, and stood before him. He put her hands on her softly curved hips and sat her down on his lap, holding her close. Their gazes locked again; her light brown eyes boring deep into his brilliantly green ones. He closed the distance, and they kissed, deeply this time. She put her hands against him, clutching his shirt, pulling him close. His left hand rest on her bare thigh, his other wrapped around her narrow waist. She giggled softly and he smiled into her lips. She played with a lock of his hair, twirling it around her finger, eyes twinkling. They both smiled at each other, then kissed again, hungrier this time. Her tongue gently probed inside his mouth, and he sucked on it gently. She moaned softly, and pressed against him, trying to get inside his skin. His hand ran up her leg and up unto her bare stomach, caressing as it made its journey. He eased it under her baby-tee and caressed the full softness he found there. Her breath caught, but she did not stop him. He found the sensitive nub and gently squeezed. She moaned again seductively, and gave him easier access to her. She pulled up her bra and Harry gently kneaded her, kissing her breast tenderly. He found her lips again and was at the same time massaging her into a sort of bliss when a warning bell went off in his head.

Someone is coming.

He broke off the kiss and said, "Quick, someone's coming!"

"Damn!' she said, her breasts halfway bare for anyone to see. She jumped off of him and was in the motion of pulling down her top when her mother pushed open the door, catching her hastily trying to cover herself up.

"Herm-" she began, caught in mid-word. She quickly analysed the compromising situation she caught them in, and both flushed scarlet, Harry's hair all messed up, Hermione pulling her top down. She looked from one to the other, and gave Harry a killer look. Harry got the drift and hastily left the room, skirting around her mother.

How could he be so careless by not closing the door fully behind him? He reasoned that he did not go in there planning all this, but still, it was careless of him. He grinned all the way into bed though, he was not going to forget this anytime soon. Hoping her mother would not go ballistic with Hermione, he listened hard for any signs of an argument. After not hearing anything from the room for about half an hour, he peeked outside his door, and he could see the shadow of her mother spilling out into the corridor from her bedroom doorway. Easing the door back closed, he looked at the clock on the wall. Almost midnight. He better get some sleep, tomorrow would be a long day. With sweet thoughts of his darling, he drifted off to sleep.