Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or his world. I just play with them sometimes, but I always put them back where I found them.
A/N: Funny story: My boyfriend works six days a week at five in the morning for FedEx, then goes to class, then usually goes to his other job at a restaurant. Most days, we ride together to campus, but our classes are in different buildings, so I basically see him when he picks me up and on the drive back to my parents' house. Sometimes, we're able to get together in the evenings, but he's so exhausted I feel bad keeping him awake AND we couldn't do much this week even IF he was awake, IF you get what I mean, so I have to tell you…
I am really starved for fluff of my own right now, so this chapter is chock-full of fluffy goodness.
Humbugs, cynics, and angry singles, be warned.
This chapter is dedicated to Gatonio, who always knows how to make a girl feel better when she's sick in bed. Thanks, Gat! Kisses.
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It took a long time for either Harry or Hermione to become aware of anything except one another in the quiet library.
Hermione was without coherent thought for the first time in a very long time, and so she spent her mental energy instead on memorizing every inch of his delicious torso.
After only a few minutes of their intense embrace, both students had shed their outer school robes—Hermione, with a slight trepidation of being caught out of uniform—because they had proven to be an unwieldy barrier in being able to hold one another. Now that he was only wearing his more basic school uniform of pants, dress shirt, vest, and tie, Hermione found it much more obvious how athletic Harry actually was. Not nearly as muscular as Viktor, no, but in a more lithe way.
She discovered that she found him far more attractive without the rippling muscles yearned for by so many of his peers, especially in the way they would suddenly appear with his movements. When he shifted around on the couch, the corresponding muscles would contract suddenly and vividly through his white button-down shirt, then disappear just as suddenly when his movement stopped. Though she had never really studied human physiology, Hermione found it endlessly fascinating that so much mass could reside on so slight a frame. She didn't think about it too much, though, because Harry kept offering her much better things to ponder, such as whether she was detecting notes of peppermint or spearmint in his breath, and noticing how much larger his hands were than she'd ever stopped to notice before, as he held the back of her neck, the small of her back, or the side of her face with each new touch of his lips.
With every embrace, Harry would tighten his arms around her suddenly, as though trying to absorb her through his skin—something Hermione certainly wouldn't argue with if he ever managed it—and then, through the following kisses, he would gradually loosen his grip as he lost himself in the wonderful tastes, smells, and sounds emanating from her, only to draw her toward him yet again as he came back to himself.
He just couldn't believe that this wonderful, amazing girl was lying here with him, on a couch in the library of the greatest school of magic in the world. For just a moment, and for the first time in years, Harry felt like a normal boy. His whole world could have occurred without magic, without ever finding out he was a wizard. He could have spent his entire youth at Number 4, Privet Drive and gone on to be a banker, or a mail boy at Uncle Vernon's drill company, and lived in Muggle London, never knowing the wonders that existed.
For one moment, Harry Potter saw how his life could have been, free of danger and worry, living as a normal, boring man. But for all the easier his life could have been, Harry suddenly felt a crushing gratitude for whatever agent of fate had allowed his to come to Hogwarts and meet this girl who had so suddenly and so quickly become the center of his universe.
It was so astounding to Harry how his life had turned out. Not because of the magic he had learned, or the dangers he'd survived, but that this girl, this extraordinarily brilliant mind and unbearably kind heart had found him and chosen him as her own.
The warmth Harry felt suddenly crashed down around him like ice water thrown upon a bonfire.
Krum.
The thought of the Bulgarian stilled his lips as suddenly as if he'd been standing in the library with them. How could he have been so stupid? It had been far too much to assume that with one kiss—one very long series of kisses, really—Hermione would be his, and that he wouldn't have to fight to be with her. What in his life had ever been so easy?
His moment of enlightened contentment shriveled back into his now-habitual disgust at his own selfishness. How could he have forgotten Krum? Krum and his damned goblin ring. That arrogance of his assumptions! He had never portrayed himself as being especially noble, but Harry, having been raised in a less than kind household, had always acted by a certain set of unspoken codes of honor. One of those rules was not to covet something that couldn't be his, and certainly not to take the coveted object, or in this case, person.
Gently, but with enough force to get his point across, Harry pushed Hermione away from him. She broke the contact with a sigh of disappointment.
"It's late," he muttered, not looking at her. "We should get to bed."
"Oh." Hermione was surprised, and confused at his sudden change in mood. She hoped that she hadn't done anything to upset him, but she couldn't think of anything that might have happened. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
She quietly gathered her things, wondering all the while what had happened to their private atmosphere of intense physical closeness. Harry stood facing away from her, bag slung over one shoulder and the Invisibility Cloak dangling from his hand as he stood stock still, neither moving nor looking back toward her. If she'd been able to see his face, Hermione might have been frightened by the intense look in his eye, or the angry set to his jaw as he ground his teeth violently, using the pain to fight off his overpowering urge to break something into very small pieces.
When he became aware that her small sounds of movement had stopped, Harry leaned back across his own shoulder to mutter, "Ready to go?" He accompanied the question with a jerk of the cloak, though he had little inclination to be thrust into such close proximity with someone who tested his will so very much.
"Um, yes," Hermione replied in a very small voice. She wasn't at all sure what was going on, and her mind constantly replayed the last few hours, wondering what she could have done wrong, wondering if she'd done enough, or maybe too much.
Harry held out the cloak to her silently, keeping a grip on it and slipping underneath it after her. He gave a quick check to see that no feet or robes were escaping into sight, and they set off through the library, moving more slowly than usual through the dark passages. Hermione reached out cautiously for his hand to hold in the dark, but he chose that moment to adjust his bag over his shoulder. It was such a deft movement that Hermione wasn't quite sure if his avoidance had been intentional or not, but for the sake of not embarrassing herself, she didn't try again.
It was a long, silent walk back to Gryffindor Tower, and Hermione's mind was reeling so much she felt physically ill. She couldn't think of a single reason that Harry's mood would have changed so suddenly, unless—but that couldn't be it.
Her original theory came back unbidden, the idea that Harry had simply been practicing and known she would be an understanding participant. Perhaps he'd even expected her to act with his own detached interest, and when he'd realized she wasn't at all detached, he'd put a quick and simple stop to things. Hermione didn't want to believe that he could be so callous about something like this, but she simply couldn't think of another cause, so when they finally reached the Fat Lady, who swung open sleepily without noticing that she couldn't see those entering, Hermione had drawn on a mask of indifference.
After ensuring that no one else was in the common room with them, they slipped out from under the cloak to bid one another good night.
Harry had known her long enough to understand that the stiff upper lip she was showing him was just an act, and he had a sneaking suspicion that he had given her reason for that act. He owed her an apology in a very big way, but he just wasn't sure how to offer it without sounding accusatory; she had probably gotten just as lost in their embrace as he had, and he was sure that she would feel great guilt once he brought their faux pas to her attention. A girl as pure and decidedly loyal as Hermione would never have entered into such a condemnable situation as he had allowed her to of her own accord.
They stood in silence for several moments before Harry took a deep breath and said, "I'm so sorry, Hermione."
There were many things he could have said for which Hermione had braced herself, but yet another apology was not one of them. "For what?" She knew that she sounded stupid, and that her shaky tone betrayed her brave mask, but a secret, dangerous hope was growing inside of her that perhaps she had mistaken his sudden change in attitude.
"I shouldn't have—I just got so car—It wasn't something I really meant to have happen, you have to know that. Don't you?" There was a hint of pleading in his voice, and a look in his eyes begging her to understand, which she of course did. The small bubble of hope burst in her chest like a child's balloon that's been let go and floated too high.
"Of course, Harry."
"Good." He looked relieved, and it made her want to hit him. "And of course," he added quickly, "no one needs to know."
"Of course not." When would he be done talking, so she could leave him and go heave up her rioting stomach?
"And obviously, I'll never tell Kr—Viktor. I promise, this'll just be between you and me for as long as—"
"What?" How did he keep doing that? Hermione wondered. Just as she thought she had his reasons figured out, it was something completely unexpected coming from him. "Viktor?"
"Yes, Viktor. I can't believe I didn't think of him sooner and put things to a stop, but I swear to you Hermione, I won't tell him. If you want to, that's your choice, obviously, but I'm not going to risk starting something betw—"
But she put up a hand to halt his nervous babbling. A very interesting thought was occurring to her, a reason for Harry's surprising change of heart that she had not previously entertained. With what she knew of Harry and his obviously high moral standards for himself, it was a completely plausible line of reasoning for him to have taken so feel as though he had breached some duty of honor, and she decided to test this new theory.
"How much of this is about Viktor, and how much is about us?" Now that she had a better idea of where this was going, Hermione was feeling more confident in speaking.
"What do you mean?"
"Are you upset because I'm spoken for, or because you were worried about giving me the wrong idea about your—" She had to choke out the word. "Feelings for me?"
Her words confused and excited him. He was confused, because, why would a taken woman ask such a question, especially one whom he knew to be as loyal and unwavering as Hermione? Which led to the exciting conclusion of whether or not she was in fact a taken woman, though given their conversation of just the night before, Harry wondered if it were possible for her to no longer be promised to Krum, or at least requested by him.
"I think I gave you a pretty strong idea of those," he finally answered, bravely drawing her near to him again and running the palm of his hand down her cheek. "Were my intentions well received?"
"I think that's a fairly safe assumption for you to make." She paused for a moment, and then added, "And just so you know, Harry, I've written Viktor a letter. There are no longer any bonds holding us together, besides those of friendship if he chooses to accept them."
"When did you send it?" He was so close now she could feel his breath in her hair.
"I haven't yet, I only wrote it this afternoon. But it's right here in my bag," she offered tentatively.
"It doesn't count until you've at least sent the letter," he murmured, smelling the clean, bright smell of her hair, more lemony than her taste. Viktor had been right to sing the praises of her scent, and Harry wondered jealously for a moment if Krum had known the wonders of her flavor. "Really, it shouldn't count until he knows, but I'm making an exception because you're so hopelessly irresistible."
"Perhaps we should go send it?" she suggested in little more than a whisper.
"You look tired," he replied, kissing her forehead. "I'll send it with Hedwig."
"He'll know she's not my owl." She bit her lip in apprehension, and was surprised when Harry groaned.
"Don't do that." The words rumbled out of his throat while he closed his eyes, trying not to think of the delicious sight of her lips caught between her teeth, nor of how good they would taste between his own. "I'm not going to let myself kiss you again until that letter is at least on its way to Bulgaria, even though that shouldn't really count as you and he not being together any longer. And I really want to keep kissing you, so please don't make this harder by chewing on your lip and furrowing your brow like that. It's just torture, Hermione."
"Hedwig looks nothing like my owl," Hermione whispered, reminding him of their conversation.
"Then he'll know you've got a good reason for dumping him. Personally, I think you're good off to be shot of him, the great hulking brute."
"That's not very nice, Harry," Hermione said. "Just because you've just stolen his girl doesn't mean you've got to be rude about it."
"Do you care?" Harry wondered, quirking an eyebrow.
"Not really, no." Hermione tried poorly to stifle a giggle, covering her mouth in embarrassment. She'd been a schoolgirl for over half her life, and she'd never giggled like one quite as much as she did around Harry.
She took a moment to collect herself enough to say seriously, "Look, if you want to send the letter, that's fine, but use a school owl, not Hedwig, please."
The pleading look on her face would have gotten her anything she wanted from him, so Harry smiled ruggedly at her and threw the cloak on, holding the folded parchment like a glass treasure as he exited the common room. Sinking into an armchair, Hermione curled up, protecting herself against the chill creeping through the windows from the snowy night outside and fell into a soft doze.
Harry moved quickly through the corridors in his eagerness to get back to Hermione, moving with less care than he usually did when outside Gryffindor Tower after hours. He hadn't said anything, but her statement about stealing Krum's girl had lifted his spirits immeasurably, and he could hardly wait to see her again and claim his prize.
When he reached the Owlery, Harry paused for a moment to offer Hedwig a treat and to murmur softly to her. When he rolled up the letter to Viktor, she held out her foot expectantly, fluttering away in a swoop of angry wings when he moved to another owl with an apologetic glance in her direction.
"It's freezing out there, you feathery cow!" he shouted up at her through the rafters. "Did you really want to go out on a delivery tonight? I'd never find you in all that snow!"
Despite his angry tone, Hedwig seemed satisfied by Harry's logic, and came back down to give him a mostly affectionate bite to the ear before he left.
On his way out the Owlery door, Harry turned to watch the plain brown barn owl flying away with Hermione's letter until it too had disappeared into the darkness and sheet of white snow over the distant mountains. Although a part of him felt badly for Krum's loss, he couldn't believe his good fortune in finally having a chance at being with Hermione.
Now that he was sure she was free for him to pursue, Harry began to think of all the wonderful wooing he would get to do for her. Though, he thought with a smile, her reactions earlier in the night had shown him that very little wooing would be needed to coerce her to his way of thinking, he still wanted to show her that he could be romantic, even if he sometimes needed to practice ahead of time.
Shaking his head at his own foolish attempt at complimenting Hermione's sweetness earlier, Harry slipped back under the Invisibility Cloak and bounced jovially down the stairs. The possibility of Hermione being his, at long last seemed more and more real with each step he took.
As he rounded the end of the staircase out of the Owlery, Harry had to make a viciously quiet and shockingly sudden stop to avoid running into Snape and Malfoy, who were standing in a shadow just outside the door. Malfoy glanced up skittishly in the direction of Harry's invisible form, but Snape took no notice of any noise he may have made. He was far too busy glaring down at Malfoy in a manner far more threatening than the Head of Slytherin House usually exercised with his own students.
"You're quite sure?" Snape whispered fiercely, looming over the blond student. "There is no possibility that it could have been incidental?"
"None," Malfoy replied in a clear, strong voice, though the smug tone he normally carried was absent tonight, "and the signs have been getting stronger from both."
"That's not good enough," Snape snapped. "You must be absolutely sure of the situation. There can be no mistakes. You know the consequences."
"I know." This time, a hint of fear leaked into his voice, and for the first time, Harry thought of Draco Malfoy as a child as young and unsure of the future as he was. It was a deeply unsettling moment of empathy for which he was unprepared, but Harry had far better things to do with his night than wonder why Malfoy was being berated by Snape.
Holding his breath, Harry crept as silently as possible past the two Slytherins until he was a safe enough distance to take off running back toward the common room and Hermione, whom he hoped fervently was still waiting for him in front of the fireplace. Normally quite stealthy when wandering about the castle at night, tonight Harry ran full-speed through the black corridors, the Cloak flying wildly out behind him. If anyone had been passing and looked down toward the floor, they would have seen disembodied shoes and perhaps a flapping set of black school robes.
When he entered the common room, Harry at first thought that Hermione had retired to bed, but when he moved toward his book bag to store the Cloak, he saw the she had fallen asleep on the armchair where he'd left her, curled tightly into a ball. He stared at her for only a few moments before she jerked awake, aware of his presence. Harry felt a small secret thrill to know he affected her even in her sleep.
"Are you cold?" His eyes flashed concern down at her, and Hermione's chest gave an uncharacteristic thump.
"Only a bit," she whispered bravely. "It's not really that b-b-b-bad."
"Come here, you silly thing," Harry laughed at her bravado, opening his outer robes and pulling her up and inside of them, another trick he'd learned from sneaking Petunia's favorite old movies. He led her over to the largest couch in the common room, long enough for them to lay on comfortably, and moved it closer to the dying fire. Without the usual blaze, it was downright frigid in the huge stone room, and Harry quickly pulled Hermione tighter into his arms when he caught her shivering from the corner of his eye.
"I've sent the letter with a school owl, just like you requested," he murmured into her hair. "I hope you hadn't changed your mind after I left."
"Of course not," she replied calmly. "Thank you, by the way," she added, sitting up slightly in the circle of his arms. "I'm not sure I'd have had the nerve to do that myself. Thank you for listening to me last night. And for…the other things." She smiled brilliantly up at him, just inviting him down for another kiss, with which he was more than happy to oblige her.
Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall stood by, watching with motherly affection as the two students gripped one another more tightly than ever. Both had known this would happen one day, but they were nevertheless thrilled that their reasonable advice had finally been tossed aside. The lion stood beside them fiercely, his proud roar drowning out every other thought in Harry's head except the girl finally in his arms.
The couple were so enchanted with one another in the darkness of the common room that they did not notice the sun coming up, other than Harry appreciating a dark chestnut glint that came off of Hermione's usually light hair. They also didn't know that Ron had sat up for most of the night waiting to talk to Harry, and wondering with growing suspicion why Harry hadn't yet returned from the library, even wondering if that's where they'd gone at all.
In Ron's mind, his darkest suspicions of being abandoned by his best friends were confirmed beyond any doubt when he walked into the Gryffindor common room very early that morning and found them sharing the largest couch in front of the fireplace, still very awake and far too involved in one another to have been paying attention to noises on the staircase.
They couldn't hear a single thing outside of their own voices, breathy sighs, and whispered names. Their first tug back to reality in several hours came from a banging door from the boys' staircase. The young lovers scrambled to rearrange themselves on the limited surface offered by the cushy sofa, immediately freezing in place when Harry raised a hand indicating they should be quiet.
"You heard that, right?" he whispered. "Someone just shut a door upstairs?"
"I really don't think it's that big of a deal," she replied huskily, trying to pull him back down into her embrace.
"No, seriously Hermione." He hooked his ankle around her knee and, with a quick twist of his hips, pulled himself to the outside edge, so that they were facing one another on their sides, and he was able to look toward the boys' staircase.
"Do you care?" Hermione whispered teasingly.
Harry sat up around her, still balancing her on the couch without really thinking about it. His Quidditch training and fighting experience really were quite useful in everyday applications, she though appreciatively. He listened for a moment to see if anyone was on their way down the stairs, and then, satisfied that it had been someone entering another room, deciding not to think about whether they'd been seen until it was confirmed, he turned back to Hermione and replied, "Not really, no."
She grinned and reached up to his neck, drawing him back down into her arms. Harry went quite willingly, resolving to listen closely the next day for any enhanced rumors.
And the snog-fest recommenced.
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A/N: So, I'm so, so very sorry that took so long to get finished, especially those reviewers who were promised an update for Friday. I kept writing versions that I hated, and my exam took a bit more preparation this week than they usually do. But while you're waiting for the next chapter, please check out my new oneshot, Totally Boggled. It's a R/Hr lemony goodness fluff piece, inspired by my repeated viewings of HBP.
Thanks to all my reviewers from the last chapter, and to everyone who didn't review but still sat patiently waiting for the update email!
The winner of my favorite review line from Chapter 7 came from gravacor, a consistently awesome reader, who said: "Their talk was good, when he was stumbling, but went slightly cheesy with the blatant flattery. I think this is practice that Harry will be more than happy to work on."
In response, if anyone can think of a hilarious one-liner or something for Harry to practice, I'd be more than thrilled to hear and/or use it in later chapters! Also, I think I've got a love interest for Ron, a little off the beaten path, but….we'll see. So if you can think of silly things for Ron to say, I think we could all have a bit of fun with that!
Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!
cj596