Chapter 7

But just as her eyes began to scan lower on the page, she heard a noise. Harry's footsteps were approaching in the hall, and Hermione suddenly felt like she had been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. She hadn't been expecting to find something quite so intimate, and though she had thought that Harry kept absolutely no secrets from her, it was clear that this was a truly personal one.

There was no time to put the whole safe and drawer back together now. With the few seconds before his arrival, she folded the parchment again, shuffled the loose drawer behind his desk, and made her way toward the door, hoping to distract him until she could figure out a way to bring her discovery up more casually. Unfortunately, in her haste, Hermione had already taken a couple steps away from the desk before realizing the parchment was still in her hand. Not wanting to damage what was clearly a precious document by stuffing it inside her clothes, she settled on the only other option and held it behind her back, hoping he wouldn't notice her bizarre posture. She had just half a second for a quick breath before Harry emerged in the doorway.

"I feel so much better," he announced, strolling into the room with a towel still around his shoulders, his glasses in the front breast pocket of his pajamas. Harry had apparently decided to go ahead and change into pajamas; it was getting later in the evening after all. "I had forgotten how that bathroom doesn't have any ventilation; it's impossible to dry off properly in that sauna."

As he reached up with the towel and finished drying his ever messy mop of hair, obscuring his face for a couple seconds, Hermione couldn't help looking him over, her eyes drifting down over his body: the places where his shirt was a bit damp and clung closely around his pectoral muscles, that trim waist, her gaze finally arriving at his bare feet. Something about seeing him again, looking so warm, his skin still a bit pink—her mind couldn't help briefly imagining the scene a few moments before: Harry without those pajamas, in the shower, water streaming down… Stop! She shook herself and blinked, suppressing that image just as Harry's eyes came back into view. Having him living here again is going to be the end of me, she thought, forcing herself back to the more urgent matter at hand.

"I'm sure you'll have some clever magical idea to fix that," he added. Harry put his glasses back on and then pulled his wand from his pocket, blasting a gust of warm air at the towel. "I'll have you know that you're getting back an improved Harry," he said, with the towel billowing out in all directions. "Anna was always after me about leaving wet towels around the flat, just as you were, but I've finally broken the habit, now that I realized I can just use a drying charm for a few seconds."

When he tossed the warm towel toward the back of the sofa, he seemed to realize that Hermione hadn't moved an inch since he entered the room. She was chewing her lip as she stared at him, uncertain what to do, now wishing she had made use of those few seconds of distracted time to hide the paper, rather than, well… leering at him.

"What?" he said, a bemused expression now on his face at her odd demeanor, his eyes scanning her.

He's going to notice, she thought. With no other ideas coming to her to get out of this mess, she gave into the one thing she knew she could always do—she ran up and threw her arms about him, holding the parchment behind his back. "Oh, Harry!" she cried, as she buried her face in his shoulder, the clean scents of soap and shampoo—and was that some sort of aftershave?—overwhelming her senses. Merlin, he smelled good. Maybe she could just guide him to the sofa, and they could cuddle for a while, before...

Harry wrapped his arms about her, but when he spoke, something was suspicious in his tone. "What's going on? I haven't been gone quite long enough to merit that level of enthusiastic embrace." He still leaned into her and ran his hands down her back.

"I can't hug you?" she queried, eventually pulling back a little while clutching the paper behind him.

He smirked at her. "No, that was more than a thirty-minutes-apart hug. That was at least a three-days-apart hug from you, especially with the little 'Oh, Harry!'" His high-pitched imitation of her voice caused her to give him a little swat on the shoulder. "Seriously," he said, his expression becoming more concerned, "is everything okay?"

Hermione bit her lip again, but finally met his eyes. There was really no option: she was always honest with him. "Promise you won't be angry with me."

Harry now dropped his arms from her completely, his brow furrowed. "Hermione, there's nothing you could do that…"

His voice trailed off as Hermione took half a step back and revealed the parchment she still held in her right hand. Her eyes immediately dropped in shame. "I'm sorry… I… well, I had no idea," she began to babble nervously. "I just was looking for extra tissues in your desk, and then I realized the drawer wasn't the right size, so I investigated and found that safe… And then, Harry, you know how I can't resist a puzzle, and I just figured it wouldn't hurt to try to guess how to open it, and then when I got lucky with the combination, I just meant to take a little peek, because I was so surprised that you had a secret compartment… let alone feelings for some mystery person..." Hermione finally interrupted her monologue as she realized Harry hadn't said anything or moved a muscle. When she looked up, she saw his face had turned white as a sheet—all the blood appeared to have drained from it.

He blinked slowly a couple times, looking off toward his desk, then said very quietly, "Did you read it?"

He didn't appear angry, which made Hermione feel at least a little better. "Not all of it," she said. "I started to, but then you came back just now."

"I'll... well, I'll just take it back, then," he said, his voice again strangely emotionless.

For a moment, she was about to hand it over, but his odd demeanor made her curious. "Who was she?"

Harry closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, which almost sounded like relief. "Just... give it back."

Hermione wasn't quite sure why, but his bizarre reticence to say anything more hurt her a bit. They were best friends, had seemingly always been best friends. Yes, she had been in the wrong to pry into a private document, but they had never had secrets like this. "Harry," she said, "this isn't like you. Would you just tell me who—"

"Give it back!" he said loudly, abruptly thrusting his hand forward, his demand sounding oddly like a five-year-old child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

The sudden reaction caused Hermione to reflexively pull the parchment back and away from him. Harry's demeanor was so weird over some poem written long ago, that she found herself laughing a bit and holding the paper aloft. "What's got into you?" she said, as Harry now lunged forward, causing Hermione to move back a few steps, where she found herself again up against the desk. As he countered her move—coming forward and now leaning against her, his arm reaching up—she realized there was no way given his height and longer arms that she could keep it from him. "I just don't get it," she chuckled. "Keeping a secret from your best friend about some old piece of paper you must have carried around in your pocket most of sixth year?"

As she finished her sentence, Harry immediately stopped reaching for the parchment and took five steps back, stumbling in his haste, a look of abject horror coming over his countenance. "How the hell did you know that?" he shouted at her.

Hermione was completely taken aback by the volume of Harry's voice, as well as his accusatory glare. She couldn't recall the last time he had taken that tone with her; since the stresses of Voldemort ended years ago, he had never raised his voice with her… ever. "I… I… I didn't," she said hesitantly, a little fearful at what might happen next. "It was a guess," she explained with some trepidation, looking down at the paper that was still in her hands. "The parchment is worn and curled up on the edges, and the color is darkened in places, which I assume is from your sweat." She dared to glance back up at him, now with a look of concern over what had upset him. "Harry, you know how your hands perspire when you're really nervous…"

He closed his eyes for a moment, appearing to process her words. "How could you possibly know it was from sixth year?"

Hermione sighed. "The loop on your capital H… among other little things."

His eyes flew open again, as he stared at her in disbelief. "What?"

"There's a loop in your H," she said. "You don't put an initial loop on your H anymore. You dropped it maybe two or three years ago, as I assume you favor a more efficient script as an adult."

"The loop on my H," he repeated, a mixture of awe and confusion on his face. "You analyzed my handwriting?"

"I'd hardly call it analysis," she replied. "You and I both share the same first initial, so yes, I've noticed that you've begun to write it differently." Hearing nothing more from Harry, who seemed to be taking in her explanation while he paced around and headed toward the sofa, she went on, "Your writing wasn't nearly so neat until quite late in fifth year or so, when you finally seemed to put a little effort into proper penmanship. And I assume you wouldn't have written this poem after you began your relationship with Ginny. Then, in the years since you broke up with her, you haven't been looping your H, so that leaves sixth year as the most likely time window." By this point, Harry stopped walking. "It was only a logical deduction," she added as an afterthought when she followed his path, though still maintaining a bit of distance.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I should have known," he said very quietly, all energy appearing to leave him as he flopped down on the sofa. "You really should work for a more investigative part of the Ministry, you know. Half the time when you work through a puzzle, I feel like I'm in the presence of bloody Sherlock Holmes."

A small smile started to form on her lips in response to his compliment, until a few seconds later he turned his face back up to her. What she saw shocked her even more than Harry's earlier angry tone: he wore an expression unlike anything she had ever seen on her best friend before. His eyes were shining with unshed tears—and he appeared utterly terrified. "I suppose…" he said haltingly, clearing his throat and glancing back down, "I suppose if you won't return it, you've earned the right to read the rest."

Hermione simply didn't know what to do. Harry had rapidly shifted from lack of emotion to anger to horror to exhaustion to terror, and now… she had no idea. She settled on the sofa beside him, noting that he even appeared to be shaking a bit. For the first time in a very long while, she was even afraid to reach out to him physically—uncertain what the reaction might be. All of this over one slip of paper, she thought.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said. "I never even imagined we had secrets between us… but you of course deserve your privacy. I don't have any right to read anything—"

"I never keep secrets from you," he interrupted, still staring down. "I mean, when I was younger, I occasionally kept some things from you, usually because you cared too much for me, and I was afraid it would either upset you or cause arguments between us. But now this… well, this... " He swallowed. "You can read it, but Hermione, you have to promise me that no matter what happens, our friendship will still stay the same."

"Our friendship?" Hermione wondered aloud, now completely bewildered. "I don't even know what to say to that. I can't imagine why you'd… Harry, you'll always be my best friend." He nodded silently with his eyes closed, still displaying signs of incredible discomfort. She had no idea what was causing him so much anxiety, but she wanted more than anything for things to be right between them. She held out the parchment to him, adding, "Honestly, I don't want to read it. I assume it's just a poem you copied—"

"Yeah, it's by Longfellow," he said softly, now staring ahead, still apparently avoiding her. But he also didn't reach out to take it back from her. "Or, actually… I found it in some collection. It was originally a French poem. I forget the author, but the translation was by Longfellow."

"Well, regardless," she continued, a bit frustrated that he was more interested in talking about who wrote the poem than its intended recipient, "it's a lovely poem, but is this really an accurate description of how you felt?"

"Every word," he said, closing his eyes again before taking another deep breath. "Go on, then."

Why did he insist that she read it? One of the very first things Hermione had done with the parchment was to scan both sides of the sheet for some name; the identity obviously wasn't written there. "I'm really more interested in the girl that caused such an extreme reaction in you. Who was she?" As Harry continued to stare silently ahead, a thought dawned on her. "Oh… who is she?" Could Harry really have some secret crush on this woman, even now? That also made no sense. Hermione cycled through all the people whom Harry knew back at Hogwarts and were still prominent in his life. The list was quite small. Perhaps… could she have died in the war, and he was still mourning her? No, no one fit that description either. "If you really don't want to say," she concluded, holding it out to him again, "I promise never to bring this up again. But I just don't understand why you won't tell me…"

"I think…" he paused, his head finally turning slightly toward her, though he still didn't meet her eyes. "I think you should read it… all of it," he said, now with an air of resignation.

This whole situation grew more and more mysterious by the minute, but Hermione realized Harry wasn't going to say anything more until she did as he asked. Taking in a breath, she began with the first line again, reading quickly aloud.

"My soul its secret has, my life too has its mystery,
A love eternal in a moment's space conceived;
Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history,
And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed.

Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived,
Forever at her side, and yet forever lonely,
I shall unto the end have made life's journey, only
Daring to ask for naught, and having naught received."

She paused, looking to Harry, who had now hunched over and covered his face with his hands. "Did you really feel like this? Suffer like this? Who is she, Harry?"

But he said nothing and made no motion, leaving her no choice but to continue.

"For her, though God has made her gentle and endearing,
She will go on her way distraught and without hearing
These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend."

She glanced again at Harry, whose head was still in his hands. Hermione realized that these lines were past the volta in what was obviously a Petrarchan sonnet, and she expected a revelation or new insight in the final sestet. Who was this woman, apparently so close to her best friend, so admired by him to cause such anguish even now?

She cleared her throat and had to bend back the bottom fold of the page to expose the final lines.

"Piously faithful still unto her austere duty,
Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty..."

But when Hermione's eyes began to scan the final line, she suddenly felt like someone had punched her hard in the stomach. Her breath caught, her insides began to heave… and she felt hot tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

Her throat clamped shut for several seconds, but she eventually managed to croak out the final words, barely in a whisper:

"... 'Who can this woman be?' and will not comprehend."

Tears were now falling freely from her eyes as she stared at the page in disbelief. It couldn't be. It was impossible. But there were no further possible explanations. All her thought processes earlier about the various clues were reevaluated in a fraction of a second, and they all led inexorably toward one conclusion. Harry had told her to continue reading, clearly expecting that it would reveal the truth. Given the rhetoric of the poem and Harry's reaction, there was only one logical explanation remaining, no matter how improbable.

She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to stem the stream of water that continued to flow from them. Never in her life had she been so overwhelmed by some tidal wave of emotion as at these beautiful but horrifically poignant words. "This isn't…" she managed to stammer. "That is… it can't possibly be…" She swallowed and somehow managed to get control of her breath, before daring to look at the man sitting next to her again. "You simply cannot be implying that this is about…"

Harry raised his head only partially from his hands, just enough to utter a single word and complete her thought: "You." His confirmation was so muted and faint that Hermione couldn't believe she heard it.

And her mind couldn't comprehend it. Memories, possibilities, and alternative interpretations flew through her brain at breathtaking speed. This was some silly teenage infatuation he had once had for her. That could explain his embarrassment. And it was during those dark times when Harry had felt so alone. Besides, it obviously hadn't lasted…

"But surely that's in the past," she began to babble again. "I mean, I remember the phase you went through, when you—"

"It wasn't a phase…" he murmured into his hands.

"Well, you moved on with Ginny. I didn't even know you had bought her a ring…"

Harry finally sat up a bit, apparently not expecting her to bring that up, though he kept his eyes closed. He let out a long sigh. "The ring wasn't for Ginny," he eventually said, with a tone of utter defeat.

It certainly couldn't have been Gwyn or Anna. "Then who was it…?" Hermione's voice trailed off as her mouth now hung open while she stared at him. No, her mind said, that was utterly absurd. Completely impossible. Harry would have to be playing some horrible joke on her. "You're not being serious, Harry. Did someone put you up to this? I can't take such—"

"Stop," he said simply, his voice gentle but firm. He swallowed before meeting her eyes again for a brief moment. They darted away again, as he resumed staring down. "Just… bring it to me."

The whole situation had become absolutely surreal by this point. Hermione slowly rose and retrieved the box with the ring in it from Harry's desk, stopping for a moment to consider what all of this could mean. She felt like she was in a fog, her body moving almost on its own, as her disembodied consciousness floated untethered to reality. When she gathered up the courage to return to the sofa, she saw Harry had his wand in his hand.

"Revelio," he muttered, as the ring glowed faintly for a moment.

Hermione held it up and now noticed an inscription inside, obviously etched by magic. The letters continued to glow for several seconds from the spell:

H.J.G. & H.J.P. — un amour éternel

Hermione gasped, as her hand flew to cover her mouth. This couldn't be...

Harry broke the silence after several seconds. "It was a stupid childish thing, really," he said quietly. "Something only a mad teenager would think up. But after you almost died at the Department of Mysteries at the end of fifth year, I realized that summer I couldn't live without you. You were the one person who always believed in me, always stayed with me, and if there was anyone I wanted to spend my life with, it would always be you."

He glanced to her briefly, then stared off again as he went on. "So, I was passing a shop window, and I saw engagement rings. I was a silly impulsive kid, but all I could think about was my own parents and how they barely had any time together before they had been killed by Voldemort, even though they married young. And so I bought it, not really thinking about what I'd ever actually do with it... but it proved much harder to figure out how to tell you…" His voice trailed off, and they sat for a few moments before he added, "Please, can we just forget about—"

"Why didn't you?" she whispered, barely able to get her voice to work.

"What?"

She cleared her throat as she continued to stare down at the impossible object that lay in her hand. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

He seemed taken aback by her words, apparently not the reaction he had anticipated. "I… well, I tried… many times. But I didn't want to ruin our friendship. The thought of that—and then maybe losing you—I just couldn't." He took a deep breath. "And then you and Ron happened. And I realized you clearly didn't think of me like that... so I put it away, vowed to stop my stupid teenage fantasies and focus on my best friend..."

They sat in complete stillness for over two minutes. Hermione spent half of that time trying to convince herself that this wasn't some bizarre, insane dream. But Harry was sitting there next to her, and what of the ring—an actual ring! Harry hadn't merely written the most heartrending poem she had ever read to confess his love for her, a secret he had apparently kept for at least six years, but he had literally bought her a ring! A ring with an inscription about "eternal love"—the very French phrase from the damned poem—and her own initials was sitting there in her hand. The evidence was undeniable, incontrovertible.

This all was simply impossible. It couldn't be happening.

Finally, Harry grew restless. "Please, Hermione, let's just throw this stuff away and go back to an hour ago. Just forget it ever happened. I don't want it to make things weird… I'll do anything just to…" He was facing her now, his voice with even greater emotion, a plea: "Hermione, please say something."

As the seconds dragged on, the permutations of possibilities in her mind kept coming back to only one solution. The tender voice in her heart realized there truly was only one word she could possibly say at this moment in response to this crazy situation—only one word that needed to be said, more than any word had to be uttered in her entire life.

She closed her eyes and felt her cheeks grow wet yet again as the single syllable emerged from her lips: "Yes."

"What?" Harry's eyebrows scrunched down at her. "Yes, what?"

Hermione sniffed a bit, trying to steady herself, and brought a finger up to wipe her eyes. This is crazy. But once the word had come out, she knew she had never been more certain of anything in her life. She turned to him and met his gaze directly. "Yes," she said to those gorgeous emerald eyes, attempting to convey the kind of emotion it deserved.

His mouth then fell open as he blinked a few times. "Wait… you're not… that is, you can't mean…"

Hermione did the only other thing she felt she could do and slipped the ring on her left hand, before reaching out to take his hand in her own. "Assuming the offer is still valid," she said, "then yes, Harry, a thousand times, yes."

His eyes dropped. "'Assuming the offer'… no, this is... she's completely barking mad," he mumbled. Then his eyes flew back up to her. "You're not thinking clearly. You've gone mental… we haven't, I mean... we've never even kissed!"

Only a fraction of a second passed before Hermione stifled that objection as she leaned in and touched her lips to his. Harry held still for a mere few moments, before she pressed harder and urged him to reply, which he did. His head tilted a bit, as his soft lips began to move, very gently, filling her heart with an incredible sensation of pure joy.

It's a strange thing, she thought. At times over the years, she had idly fantasized about what it might be like to kiss him. She had pictured Harry, so nervous, slowly leaning in, giving her a mere quick peck until they tentatively began to kiss more deeply. On other occasions, she had imagined him sweeping her up, suddenly kissing her passionately in the middle of a tense situation.

But this felt more intimate, more natural, like something she always had meant to do or say but could never quite get it out. It was a pure, chaste expression of love for her best friend in the world, one that came with the deepest and most heartfelt promise she could ever make.

After a few seconds, their lips parted. They held in that position, eyes closed, a fraction of an inch away from each other, for quite some time. It was Harry who finally broke the silence. "I… I don't understand," he stuttered, as they opened their eyes and stared, neither quite believing what had just happened.

She shook her head and had to laugh at the absurdity. "You don't understand? You?! You've apparently been carrying a bloody engagement ring around with our initials in it for years! If I weren't so utterly infatuated and completely in love with you, I'd hex you into next week for keeping this from me."

"Wait… you're… in love with me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the look of disbelief on Harry's face. "I'd have thought that was a prerequisite for my saying 'yes' a few moments ago."

"I'd have thought kissing someone usually would come first, too…"

"Yes, well, we're breaking new ground in more ways than one, Harry." She gave into that compulsive need she always had felt and pulled herself closer to his side on the sofa. Except now she didn't need an excuse to get close to him. As she contemplated the glittering ring on her hand, she realized she'd never need an excuse again—hopefully Harry wouldn't get too overwhelmed once he realized how much she constantly wanted to be in physical contact with him.

"How long have you…?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, snuggling even closer into his side and putting her head on his shoulder. "Forever, perhaps? Part of me was probably in love with you since our first year at Hogwarts."

"Our first year…? Why didn't you say anything—give me any hints?"

"Why didn't I? Why didn't I?" She sat up again, looking straight at him. "Harry, how many hugs and kisses did I give you over the years, silently hoping deep in my heart that you'd maybe someday think of me differently?" She sighed, her head shaking back and forth. "I mean, don't you remember when we were in the Forest of Dean, alone, just the two of us? I told you I wanted to grow old with you… and you said nothing—absolutely nothing to me in response. Do you have any idea what 'grow old' with you means?"

"You were with Ron…"

"With Ron?!" she cried in exasperation. "Ron was gone! For months! It was only us, like it's always been us. If only you gave me my bloody wand when he came back, I'd have likely sent him away for good. But it almost seemed like the two of you were conspiring to get me back together with him…" She took a breath; now was not the time to litigate that. It was in the past. Hermione looked back to him, adding gently, "If I had any clue that you… well, Ron and I probably never would have been together at all." He was staring ahead, appearing to still be processing everything. She reached out and stroked his cheek, wanting him to realize how much he had always been the center of her life. "Harry, you should have told me… aside from your banter recently, which you always passed off as a joke, you never even gave me a glance…"

"Now, hold on," he said, just a bit testily. "I was always at your side, and it was because of that I couldn't get you out of my mind. I spent hours, days, even years with you, working with you, studying with you… and staring at you… frankly, not studying with you, but studying you." He glanced to her again, and she could see the implicit "yearning for you" in his eyes.

And then she realized perhaps she had been an idiot too. She knew that look… it had been there over the years, but she never realized what it meant before. Harry had always been there—working late in the library at Hogwarts, hanging out in her office at the Ministry, reading together on this very sofa—and she just assumed those glances at her were part of their normal interaction, part of how much he needed her help, her friendship. But his eyes seemingly were always on her. Could he really, actually want her as much as she loved him? She let out her breath and said, "Enough… Harry, just please shut up and kiss me."

"What?"

"This is pointless," she went on, "and it isn't like us. We haven't had a serious argument in at least five years. I'm certainly not going to start now." She had had enough of petty bickering in her years with Ron.

Harry was staring blankly at her. "I still don't understand…"

"Oh, honestly!" she exclaimed, exasperated, right before she straddled his lap and planted her lips firmly on his, this time engaging his mouth fully. Within a second, her tongue brushed his lips, requesting entrance. The request was immediately granted as they kissed more deeply, her hands now running from the back of his neck to his shoulders, trying desperately to pull him closer. Merlin, she thought, nothing had ever made her feel like this, desire flaring as she now had the mad urge to rip his clothes off as soon as possible. Soon, she could feel him responding too, his hands wandering down her body and roughly pressing her against him, finally convincing her that he really did want her in every way.

That was the signal she had been waiting for. She instantly pulled back, leaving them both panting. "Hermione..." he said, his voice deep and husky, his tone desperate. "Please…"

"Are you still confused?"

"No," he replied breathlessly.

"Do you understand now?"

"Yeah." He nodded. Rather vigorously, she thought.

"Good. So here's what's going to happen," she said, standing up. "I'm going to have a shower, because after our day of moving, I think I need one, and you already smell… well, rather amazing. And then I'm going to meet you in your bedroom. Assuming you haven't been overcome with some ridiculous confusion again, we'll check off another typical prerequisite for that engagement list, okay?"

As she turned away to head to the bath, Harry grabbed her hand firmly. "No," he said.

"What do you mean, no?"

He rose and turned Hermione back toward him, wrapping his arms around her. Reflexively, her arms just naturally went around his neck. "I have a much better idea," he said, leaning his face in toward hers and giving her a quick tender kiss.

When he pulled away, she began to say, "Harry, what are…?" But that was all she managed to get out before her feet flew off the floor and up into his arms, causing her to emit a surprised squeal.

"I've been waiting for years," he said, as he maneuvered through the door, carrying her in his arms. "And while I'm not confused, I truly think you may have gone mad. I'm not going to take a chance that you'll regain your sanity. If you think I'm going to wait another minute…"

"But seriously, Harry, I was perspiring earlier and must smell like—"

"You really want to debate me on this?" he interrupted, as they began to ascend the stairs. "Counterargument number one: I'm rather certain you'll be sweating much more profusely within the next few minutes..."

"Is that a promise?" she laughed, trying to distract herself from the mildly precarious method of transport Harry had chosen for her as she held tightly to his neck. She wasn't sure she could remember being carried in anyone's arms like this since she was a little girl, and while it made her a little anxious, she had to admit there was something quite romantic about it.

"And counterargument number two: I don't give a toss if you had just rolled around in stinksap and bathed in dragon's urine, I'd still want you in my bed as soon as humanly possible. As it is, you smell like Hermione, which is wonderful, and frankly a bit of curry, and I do like my women hot and spicy..." She laughed again as he babbled on crazily. "But you smell mostly like Hermione, which is great since… you are Hermione, which is absolutely incredible… which…"

Kreacher must have heard the commotion and popped into the hallway in front of them, his eyes immediately growing wide. "Oh! Master Harry, oh my!"

"Out of the way!" Harry called. "We are not to be disturbed. In fact, take the entire weekend—no visitors, either!"

"Finally..." Kreacher muttered to himself as they passed by. "Kreacher didn't know how much more Kreacher could take of all the pining looks and glances," he added just before popping away.

By this point Harry had sped up considerably, nearly trotting down the hall in the final stretch to his bedroom. Hermione was growing a bit nervous, though. "I understand you're eager, Harry, but you don't have to run…"

"I would never drop you…" he said, panting a bit. "Though, perhaps I should have thought about the fact that I was moving furniture and boxes all day before carrying you through half of Grimmauld Place. But bringing you to bed holding you in my arms has been a fantasy of mine for quite some time." He turned sideways to walk her through the bedroom door. "Something to plan for next time," he added, grinning widely before he laid her gently down on the bed. He pulled out his wand, and instantly the room was lit with more than a dozen candles.

Hermione stared up at him, not quite able to believe this was really happening. "Well, have we satisfied that fantasy of yours?" she asked, pulling herself toward the center of the bed and trying to figure out exactly what the next logistical step should be.

"Just one other thing… Evanesco!" he pronounced, just as he simultaneously tossed his wand aside and took a flying leap into bed right beside her. He landed gently against her, but the sensation was novel—as it took a second for her brain to register that they were both now completely nude.

"So this is how you seduce all your gorgeous women?" she laughed, instinctively curling her body around his, the skin-against-skin contact instantly overwhelming her and creating a compulsive need to feel closer to him.

"Only one, actually… I've always wanted to try this, but you need someone willing, and not mind if you lose the clothes you're wearing." His hands had already started wandering around her body, pulling her closer. "But it went a lot smoother than I imagined—perhaps I just got lucky."

Her grin turned devilish as she took his glasses off and tossed them aside, before nudging him on top of her. "Actually, I'd say you're just about to, Harry…"