I'm so thankful for the amazing response this fic has received already! THANK YOU FOR READING!
~A.

WARNING: There will be some voyeurism.

Chapter Two: Who Are You

So, where do you go when you think no one is watching you?

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued from the moment you left my shop, and you don't disappoint. I could have run into a bout of bad luck and found you Disapparated away, but no. You're simple, and you like to walk. I keep my distance, of course. There's no need for you to know I'm here. This is just reconnaissance. I'm doing it for us, really. If I'm going to make my way back into your life, it's important to know just what that life is like right now and how you prefer your tea.

Three sugars, it seems, which means you have a sweet tooth. You order one inside the local tea shop, but not before tucking the rare item I've bestowed you into your beaded bag at your hip. Ahh, I see. You have a bag of holding. Those are sparse - I'm impressed. It seems I'm not the only one with rarities. Just full of surprises, aren't you Granger?

I'll just take a seat on the patio outside. From here, I can watch you as you find your way to a corner nook inside, far enough away not to notice me but not too far that I can't see you. And a quick eavesdropping spell later, I can hear what you're saying as well.

Your sigh is the first thing to touch my ears, and it sends my nerves into a frenzy. You slump on the loveseat beneath you, careful not to spill your tea. Ever proper, eh Granger? Does a woman like you even know the sort of vibe you give off? You've always been intimidating - any man that's spoken to you can attest to that. But there's more: so many layers. I want to peel them back and see you at your most vulnerable. But all in good time. I'm patient, remember? And I don't mind playing the long game - I've done it this long already.

I know this much about you. You work for the Ministry. Surprise, surprise. And if you can't pick up on my sarcasm, Granger, then let me enlighten you. We all knew you'd end up working for the same establishment you used to admonish. After all, how else are you going to make changes if not from the inside out? I can't imagine it's fulfilling for you. But then again, I can't imagine what you saw in an asshat like Weasley, so the jury's still out on what tickles your fancy besides a good book and breaking a list of rules as long as my forearm.

Oh, sure. You try to pretend you're straight-laced, but how many rules did you bend (break) back at Hogwarts?

I like a dangerous side, Granger.

And I know you've been on and off with Weasley for some time now - the papers love a good gossip column, and two war heroes bickering outside of a joke shop? Front page news. It's no doubt why you decided to stow yourself away in the hidey-hole of my shop. But other than that, you've been off the radar, so it's no wonder I have to follow you around.

You sip on your tea quietly, ruminating about the events that have recently transpired - but do you dwell on the negative, like Weasley, or the devilishly handsome Alchemy shop manager? You fidget with the top button of your dress close to your collarbone, so obviously, whatever you're thinking, it's enough to make you restless. And the way you rub your legs together...dare I say your mind, amongst other things, has been stimulated?

Red hair distracts me, and I turn my attention away from you, anticipating Weasley but instead finding another Weasley - Ginny, if memory serves. From the way your eyes light up when you spot her, I see she means a great deal to you.

"Hey, Gin."

"Pansy should be here soon. Fashionably late-"

"As usual," you finish as you scoot over, making room for your friend.

So this is why you're here. A little girl time. I can respect that, though the company you keep, Granger...it's unfitting. Pansy Parkinson? Since when did you two become bosom buddies? What on earth do you have in common with her? At least Weasleyette I understand. You both grew up together - share horrible tastes in men. Not that I'm counting myself in that. You'll find I'm many calibers above those swine you considered redeemable.

I know Pansy. She's not a fan of those she can't manipulate. So either she's got you in her claws somehow, or this is some cosmic joke.

I'm going to hope for the latter.

"Who do you think the flavor of the week is?" you ask, sipping from your cuppa. You lick your lips when you reach the bottom of your cup, which means your sweet tooth hasn't been satisfied. Does it mean you're difficult to sate in other ways?

"The entire Bulgarian Quidditch Team. All at once," replies Ginny, and it causes you to burst into a fit of giggles. But I see behind those eyes - I see the pain inside of you. It must be difficult, to sit here with his sister, after Weasley just staked your heart less than an hour ago.

You want to forget, but you can't.

Does this mean you're holding onto other memories? Memories of my home? Of being scarred, mentally and physically, by my family? Of me standing by, doing nothing but watching the way you writhed?

Of course, Pansy shows. She's as prissy and clingy as I remember. I've been on the receiving end of those hugs, Granger. Don't they just give you the willies? She's a stage five clinger if ever was one, and it appears you're her next victim. So what is it you have to offer her? What could Pansy Parkinson want from you? Status? You are a war heroine. Ginny is a professional Quidditch player, according to the papers. But Pansy comes from money. Old money. She has status already.

Looks like I'll log that away in my mind palace for later inquiry. Ugh. I can hardly stand this remedial dribble of what your friends call conversation. You don't look particularly entertained by the size or girth of Pansy's last shag. Yes, go order yourself another tea. Four sugars this time. Noted.

After you're done drudging through the drab one-hour conversation with your friends, you excuse yourself, saying you have another appointment. But that isn't the case, is it? If it was, you wouldn't be dragging your heels to return your empty teacup to the front counter. You're prolonging the inevitable, avoiding where you have to go next. So maybe...maybe you've nothing to do at all.

And that scares you.

You leave the tea shop, patting the bag at your side as if to remind yourself you still have something to look forward to. And I'm not going to lie to you, Granger. That gives me immense satisfaction knowing I'm the one who gave that to you.

There's a moment where I think this is it: you'll leave in a pop, and I'll be left to my own devices, but you surprise me. Now, we're heading in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. Considering you just drank your weight in tea and sugar, I doubt you have any intentions of sitting down and grabbing yourself a stiff one. And I'm right. When I enter behind you, with long enough pause to not draw your notice, you're already to the front door. From the window, I watch you tap the bricks and enter muggle London.

I can't say this will be my favorite trip, but for you, Granger, I'm willing to risk my sanity.

Once I know the bricks are set, I step out and follow your lead, waiting begrudgingly as the bricks move and reform to let me through to your world. The air...it's thick, like a sewer in summer, but that's just how muggles are, aren't they?

Look at me, trudging the swamps of muggle London just for you.

I can hardly believe it myself. She liked muggles, too, you know. Not that we should bring her up. She's in the past, and you're in my sights: my future with bouncing, frizzy hair and an ass that sways in that dress. But you're more than just your body. I know that.

You take the tube, which I'm unfortunately familiar with. Snagging a pass off of some unsuspecting muggle with a quick Accio? That's child's play. Before we know it, I'm sitting five rows back from you, hood drawn around my face as not to be noticed by you. I don't want to spoil this; you wouldn't understand the lengths I'm going through just for you. Not yet.

It's a ten-minute walk to your next destination, which I can only infer by the quaint brickwork and drabby shutters is your apartment. My suspicions are confirmed when you pull out a key.

I stay across the street, ever a gentleman. I wouldn't dare just let myself in uninvited. At least, not with you there. Could you imagine, Granger? You'd scream your pretty arse off and probably throw a chair at me.

Ah, two stories up. I spot you opening your shutters and drawing the curtains back, letting in the last of London's evening glow. It will be dark soon. Will you be the same witch you were earlier? Or does night time bring out another side of you? They don't call it the 'witching hour' for nothing.

Ohhhhh, Hermione Granger. Stripping? In your living room? Or is it a studio apartment? Don't you know there are public indecency laws? Maybe you do. Maybe you like the attention. Maybe you're hoping someone will take notice. After all, Weasley didn't appreciate you, did he? I wonder why you decided to take a break…

I wouldn't have pegged you for a woman who wore blue, but those knickers you're wearing suit you. And your breasts look like a handful - just the way I like them.

No, don't go putting clothes back on! The jumper and jeans combo gives little to the imagination. Such a tease…

But what's this? You're pulling my book out of your bag...and you're smiling. I don't think I've seen you smile like that all day. And I know I haven't seen you bite your lower lip like that. You stare at the cover, but you haven't opened it yet, which means you're thinking about something. Me, perhaps? I lent you this book, and it's at the sight of this book that I see you - truly see you - for the first time.

Deep down under all of your pretenses, you're just a girl who still gets excited at the sight of a new book. They're your escape. Your portal to anywhere but reality, because reality is lackluster compared to all of the things swirling around in that head of yours. Without them, you would have to face the cold, hard truth: your life isn't what you imagined it would be.

You're just about to open it up and take a peek when your head darts toward your door. Shit, I haven't been paying attention to the common passerby. Who the fuck is there and why should you care?

You place my book on your entry table next to the door and turn the handle.

I halfway expect it to be Weasley, groveling on your doorstep for forgiveness, but instead, I find none other than Harry fucking Potter. Probably come to talk on behalf of the oaf-

Wait. Why are you kissing him?

Him? Potter? Him?

I'm surprised the door gets shut, the way you two fall into each other's arms, a tangled mess of limbs and lips. His hands already find their way under your jumper, and I have the sudden urge to vomit.

My eavesdropping spell is still in effect, because I can hear the two of you panting for breath.

"Harry," you whisper, head falling to the side as he trails nips down your neckline. "Harry, we should-"

"Take this to your bed? Couldn't agree more."

You take 'this' to her bed, and I doubt you'll wake up in the morning with your face intact, Potter.

"Mmh, no." You place your hands on his shoulders and steady him back upright, though your body language suggests it's reluctantly. "I...this...what we're doing...should we really be…?"

I gag as his hand cups your cheek. Moreso when your eyes flutter shut. "Hermione...I thought you and Ron were over?"

"We are," you sigh, leaning into his touch. "We are." Your eyes open, and you kiss his wrist. Disgusting. "I just...wonder if we're moving too fast?"

Potter's eyebrows crease, and his lips pull down in a serious expression. "If you're having second thoughts-"

"No. No," you insist. "I've...we've wanted this for a long time. I just want to make sure we're not rushing into things."

"You saw him today, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Potter sighs. "Why?"

"Closure...answers. I'm not sure." Once again, you bundle your arms around yourself for the second time today. I'd never make you recoil, Granger. You wouldn't need to feel the need to protect yourself around me. "I needed to make sure...what I felt with him...that it was really over."

"...And?" Potter asks, hanging on bated breath. And frankly, I can relate to that because I am as well.

"It is." You nod firmly. And just like that, you're reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt, tugging him to you and inviting him to wrap his arms around you yet again. "I'm being silly. Ron and I are through, and you and I...well, I'm not sure what we are, but all I know is it's...rather hard to concentrate on anything with you staring at me that way."

"What way?"

"Like you can't wait to undress me."

"Can't deny the thought hasn't been sprinting through my mind..." Potter runs his hands down your hips and trails them up your spine, making you shiver. "Seriously, Hermione. I'll take this as slow or as fast as you want. If you want to just sit and watch T.V., or maybe order a pizza-"

You don't give him a chance to respond, because you're already yanking him down to kiss you and working the buckle of his belt at the same time.

It's like a train wreck, Granger. I'm horrified at the sight before me, but I'm unable to look away. Here I am, unable to stop you from pressing yourself between your front door and Potter. All I can do is watch as one article of clothing after the other is tossed aside like yesterday's news. No, no. This is all wrong! You're not supposed to be with him. How did I overlook this? Were the signs there, and I missed them?

I'm thankful for the darkness that encompasses the street now, because it wouldn't be great if you spotted me lurking in the shadows, watching you as you're stripped of your clothes and dignity. The way you just let him touch you shows that you don't know what's good for you. And when he falls to his knees, I'm tempted to walk away, right now, and pretend I never saw this side of you. That is, until I see the way your back arches as he works his mouth against the most intimate part of you. Gods, your mouth as those little moans and sighs escape it...I could give you something to put in there, Granger. I could give you something all the way to the back of your throat until you gag.

And your tits...I don't mean to be indecent or forward toward you, but Merlin's beard, I've never seen a prettier pair in my life. It seems unfair they should be wasted on men like Weasley and Potter…

As you give his hair a good pull and wrap a leg over his shoulder, I imagine you're pulling my hair. You remember? The hair you found tugable? Well, you didn't exactly say that, but we both know you were thinking it.

My hand slips inside my robes, unable to resist this temptation to imagine what it would be like if I, and not Potter, was between those silky legs of yours. Gods, Granger. This is what you do to me. I'm touching myself to the image of you, because you're just that irresistible.

"Mmh...right there…"

There, Granger?

"Oohh…! H-Harry…"

I'll admit, that throws me off, but you'll be saying my name soon enough. I'm willing to let a few mistakes slide.

"Ah...mmMmm...fuck."

Language, Granger. - And what I mean by that is: keep using it. It's sexy.

"I'm so close…"

Me too. Maybe we can come together.

A door slams behind me, barreling me out of my thoughts of you. Thank Merlin for robes, or my public indecency would be widespread news in your neighborhood. Thankfully, your neighbor who's stepped outside to light up a cigarette takes no notice of me, and I'm able to play off my watching you as staring up at the night sky. I can still hear every one of your moans and sighs, though.

I don't think your neighbor is leaving his stoop any time soon, so it looks like it's curtains for me.

Don't worry, Granger. I'll be back. And I'll get you out of this situation you've found yourself in. Potter? He's just a distraction. We both know what's good for you, and it isn't him. You'll see it's me, in due time.

And I've got the plans to make it happen.