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: So sorry for the delay. Our home got blasted with influenza type A over the past couple of weeks, and my fevered brain was not up to making words. Please don't forget to check out the companion fic to OKFY, Brother to Dragons! If you add an Author Alert, you'll be able to get updates as soon as I post for either story!
~%%~
There was no one in the corridors leading from the first floor to the Gryffindor common room. If there had been, they would have seen a young woman whose usually bushy brown hair was now more disheveled than ever, and whose skirt was not quite on straight. Hermione smoothed her skirt absent-mindedly as she walked, but was not aware of her hair, or how bruised and puffed her lips were.
Luckily, most of the Gryffindors were still in class when Hermione wandered in, and the few sixth years who were there were working too hard on their homework to pay her any heed as she moved straight to her dormitory.
Hermione was relieved that Lavender and Parvati were not in the dormitory when she entered. Laying eyes on her four-poster reminded her that she had barely slept at all the past two nights, and she was suddenly exhausted. She thought of all the homework waiting for her, and decided that perhaps she had earned a short nap. She could catch up on her reading and schoolwork while everyone else was at Quidditch practice after dinner. Or perhaps, she wondered, would Harry want her to watch him practice? It was the sort of thing that girlfriends did, after all, though she was almost certain that he would consider that yet another unnecessary risk.
There was a small fireplace in the wall near her bed—a luxury she had noticed was not in the boys' dormitory—but it was not lit, and the tower room was buffeted by winds throughout the day, leaving it chilled. She crawled under the scarlet comforter and into the crisp, clean white sheets. She frowned in disapproval at how obviously new they were, and made a mental note to talk to Dobby yet again about having the sheets on her bed changed less frequently. Still, after the time with Harry in that abandoned classroom, she had to admit that there was something especially luxurious about crawling into fresh sheets to take a nap during her afternoon off from classes.
Still, even when she slipped between the sheets, smelling the soft floral scent of the soap the house elves used, the thrumming of her blood in her veins would not let her sleep. She could not get the darkened images of Harry out of her mind. In the dark, she had only been able to see the trace of his outline, a solid black figure against the ambient darkness. It had been a little frightening and exciting, that vague possibility that someone had replaced Harry, and the trust that she had put in him to behave himself.
As though she had wanted him to.
~%%~
Harry had returned from his meeting with Professor McGonagall in high spirits, and hoping for a chance to sneak off with Hermione again before dinner and Quidditch practice. To his disappointment, however, Hermione was not in the common room when he returned to Gryffindor Tower.
He sat down at one of the few empty tables and tried to focus on the reading for Transfiguration that he had missed that morning, but found himself reading pages at a time without absorbing any of it. He figured that this was as good a time as ever to start on his lines for McGonagall, and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. He looked at the daunting two-foot expanse of yellowed white on the table and dipped his quill with a sigh.
I will arrive to class on time and prepared.
Well, there was one out of the way. Two hundred ninety-nine to go.
The work was not difficult, but three hundred lines would take hours to do, and Harry was not feeling particularly concentrated at the moment. He had been hoping very much to see Hermione again before dinner, but he knew that she could not spend every spare moment of her day with him. He wondered where she was, and if she had made it back to the common room yet or not. Looking around to make sure no one took notice, he moved to a chair on the other side of the table that offered him a view of the portrait hole, so he would be sure to spot Hermione as soon as she came in.
After seventy-three lines, Harry looked up from his punishment to find that only twenty minutes had passed. Despite the relatively short time, he found himself concerned that she had not yet appeared, and resolved to send someone to check on her as soon as he could manage, though he wondered how he could possibly do so without attracting attention. He knew that he could not take the stairs to the girls' dormitories, and very briefly considered getting his Firebolt to fly to her room, but dismissed it out of hand.
He had nearly reached the halfway point when Ginny sat down beside him and said brightly, "Would you like to get dinner?"
Her sudden appearance startled Harry, and he looked up at her a bit stupidly before comprehending her question. "Erm, sure," he replied, glancing back at the stairs to the girls' dormitory. "Have—have you seen Hermione at all?" he asked casually.
"Not since lunch," she said, "but I'm sure she'll wander down to dinner sooner or later. You know Hermione." She grinned, adding, "She's probably lost in homework or something. Let's go, Captain! We need to get our strength up for practice!"
Harry packed his things as slowly as he could reasonably get away with, but was finally forced to admit that Hermione was not going to appear before meeting them at dinner. With a soft sigh, he followed her to the portrait hole, resisting the urge to glance back at the empty staircase. He resolved to find her later that night, after Quidditch if he had to, and have a few more of those wonderful moments alone.
~%%~
Hermione must have slept far longer than she had meant to, because when she woke up, the afternoon light that had been streaming through the windows was gone, replaced with a distinct ray of light from the nearly full moon outside. She sat up, wondering what time it was, and became instantly aware of what had woken her.
The gentle click of the closing door.
There was someone in the room with her.
Not just someone, but a dark shadow hovering ominously near the door. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it or not, but gathered the sheets closer around herself in any case.
"I—is someone there?" she called timidly.
The figure moved slightly, and she became even more convinced that it was real. She fumbled on her bedside table for her wand, but could not find it. Just as she was gathering her breath to scream, the figure walked through the beam of moonlight, and she saw…
"Harry?" For it was Harry, certainly. She recognized the shape of his unruly hair, the rhythm of his stride.
He moved toward her assuredly, never hesitating until he reached her bedside and gazed down at her.
"How did you get in here?" she asked in confusion. The boys weren't allowed in the girls' dormitories. She had seen the rather embarrassing protection charms in action before.
"The door."
"I meant, how did you get past the charms?"
He lowered himself into the bed beside her, seeming to almost levitate in the way he never left his weight on her. "Love, you forget," he whispered, kissing down the shell of her ear and working across her neck, "I'm Harry Potter."
This seemed a perfectly logical response to Hermione, as his hands were gripping her sides, holding her close to his body. His mouth found hers in the near darkness, and once again Hermione felt that searing need for him, much stronger than it had been before, and unlike earlier in the afternoon, he seemed all too willing to push her along. His hands roamed across the front of her robes, caressing her breasts in a tender, wonderful sort of way while he continued nipping and kissing the skin on her neck and all along her collarbone. Her moans were uncontained in the darkness as she writhed beneath him, enjoying the sensation of an oddly shaped item that she was quite sure was not his wand. His knee found a place between her legs as they continued to snog, and Hermione began to grind against him as subtly as she could manage, seeking some kind of quenching of the fire that threatened to spill out of her skin and engulf them both.
"That's it, Hermione," he whispered naughtily. "I want you to come. Come for me, my lovely little witch."
"Oh, Merlin, yes, Harry!" she cried, pressing herself against him over and over, feeling the heat building on her skin, ready to swallow them both in passionate flames. "Harry," she whimpered finally, when she could bear it no more. "I want—I want you to—"
"You want me inside you, darling?" he asked, his eyes bright and shining, two points of green fire in the darkness. "You want it, don't you?"
"Yes, Harry, please! Do it now!" Had it been anyone else, Hermione would have been mortified to realize that such things were erupting from her, but this was Harry, and he wanted her, too.
"Soon," he whispered, his voice raspy and low.
Just as she could feel that mysterious relief nearing, Harry pulled away from her, seeming to fade away as he called her name.
~%%~
Hermione did not appear at dinner, and was still not in the common room when Harry and Ginny returned. They had gone to dinner early, so as not to eat too soon before practice, so he reasoned that she may very well have been planning to eat later. Ginny bade him farewell, mentioning a spot of research she needed to do in the library before practice, and flounced back out of the common room.
Unexpectedly, Ron sat down across from Harry and produced his Transfiguration homework from that morning, setting to work on it without a word. Harry continued on his lines, finishing with barely a half hour until practice. He carefully spread out the parchment, making sure all the ink was dry, so as not to risk smearing the hours of labor when he rolled it up.
"Are those lines?" Ron asked, appalled, as he noticed the repetitive nature of the scroll.
"Yes, from McGonagall." His reply had been automatic, without thinking of the fact that they weren't speaking to one another. "She didn't want us to cancel practice tonight."
"If Lupin kept you behind, you shouldn't've got a punishment at all!" he proclaimed hotly, apparently forgetting their fight that morning. Their eyes met, and it seemed that Ron suddenly remembered his resentment toward Harry. He quickly averted his gaze and fell silent.
"It's alright," Harry replied, not looking at him. They sat in tense silence for several minutes, as Harry very carefully rolled and bound his parchment scroll, not putting it in his satchel for fear of damaging it. He was about to go put his bag in his dormitory when Ron spoke suddenly.
"Have you seen her?" he asked, in what seemed to Harry an overly casual tone. He did not have to ask who 'her' was.
"Not since class," he replied, looking once again at the motionless portrait hole. He supposed that the small lie was entirely forgivable, considering the bruise still vivid on his cheek. He was absolutely certain that Ron would not take kindly to hearing of their afternoon romp on the third-floor.
"You're worried about her?"
It was barely a question; Ron knew him far too well, Harry thought. Of course he was worried about Hermione. Wasn't he always? Well, no, he answered himself as his eyes shifted across the other students in the now full common room, he hadn't always been so protective. He'd certainly had feelings for her for quite some time, and yet he had always known Hermione to be a brilliant witch and an exceptional person, more than capable of handling her own safety. He saw a couple—a second and third year, he thought—sitting by the fire. The girl looked shyly about, as though wondering if anyone was going to tell them off for sitting together. When her eyes caught Harry's, she looked away quickly, blushing a vibrant pink. The boy sitting beside her noticed and turned to see who she had been looking at. When he realized who had caused his girlfriend's blush, he frowned at Harry and but a protective arm around the girl, who snuggled in gratefully.
Seeing them made Harry realize the difference between his generic sort of worry for Hermione's safety when he'd thought she could never be his, and his nearly consuming concern for her health and general well-being now that they had formed a romantic bond. There was something there to be protected now, something that was well worth her indignant claims that she could protect herself perfectly well, thank you very much. Now that she was his, in whatever small way she deigned to offer herself, Harry felt a much more personal stake in protecting their blossoming affection and the delicate flower from which it came.
"I can tell you're worried," Ron added when Harry did not respond.
Harry grunted in the most noncommittal way he could manage, already caught as he was in his probably misplaced concern. He eyes the stairs to the dormitory on either side of the room, then down at the table, examining the dark, worn wood.
"You get all shifty when you're nervous," he continued, as though unaware that he was being mostly ignored. "You look around at everything, like you're expecting an attack from every direction. You're worried because she's missing, and Hermione's never missing from the common room before dinner, because she's always egging us on to do our classwork."
"It's stupid," Harry finally said quietly.
He saw Ron shrug from the corner of his eye. "It's you."
Harry finally looked up at him in surprise. Was this Ron trying to be friendly? Perhaps there was yet hope for their friendship to be renewed.
"I'll send Ginny up to check on her, if you'd like."
"Yeah," he replied thoughtfully, his gaze once again wandering to the girls' dormitory staircase. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."
~%%~
"Hermione!"
She opened her eyes in surprise, immediately shying away from the bright light as the sunset filled the window in the girls' dormitory. There was still a figure there with her, but this one was decidedly female-shaped as it stepped between her and the offending red sunlight.
"Ginny? What are you—oh dear Merlin!" She came to herself slowly, jerking in surprise as she realized that her hand was pressed tightly at the juncture of her thighs. She pulled the sheets up quickly, trying to hide her rumpled clothing and hoping that she had not been doing what she suspected when Ginny walked in.
"You missed dinner," the red-headed girl said, by way of explanation. "Harry and Ron asked me to come and check on you, since they couldn't come up here."
She smiled at the memory of the boys' encounter with the Glisseo charm the year before, but was still disconcerted to have been caught doing such a thing—if she had been, that was. The terrible thing was, there was no safe way of asking about it, but Ginny seemed to do it for her.
"Um, Hermione?" she asked nervously. "You know how Ron has been acting strangely lately about you and Harry?"
"He's a strange boy," Hermione said after the slightest of pauses. "I'm never quite sure what's going on in his head." This, at least, was true. She still could not put her finger on Ron's problem. She didn't like having to lie to her friend, even by omission, but she knew at the same time that it was bound to be the first of many lies to protect her newfound secret.
"Er, right," Ginny replied, her head dropping. "Never mind, then."
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's just—I mean—" She seemed at a rare loss for words, and Hermione was curious to know what had the vivacious girl feeling to disheartened. "If something was going on between you and my brother, one of you would tell me, wouldn't you?"
"Well, I suppose so," Hermione replied. "But there isn't, so I couldn't say for sure what would happen. You would probably know when you found his corpse in the lake, if not sooner."
Ginny giggled, looking relieved. "Alright. It's just that when I came in, you were—I mean I can't say for sure, but—well, that is…you looked like you were having a very nice, er, dream."
She could feel herself flushing a deeper scarlet than her duvet, and didn't know what to say for several minutes. "Well," she said finally, "I certainly wasn't dreaming about Ron."
"Oh."
"Yes."
"Was it Harry?"
"What?" She could not believe that of anyone, Ginny would have been the one to figure it out. Of course, she was the least likely to be suspected, and had always used that to her advantage to learn more than she was given credit for. Hermione should have known that Ginny would be the most likely source of suspicion. "No. It was just—just one of those dreams," she added vaguely, hoping that those dreams were a fairly common thing, and she wasn't turning into a harlot.
"Of course," Ginny nodded in understanding. "So…if you don't mind my asking, do you have those dreams a lot?"
"Not before today," she replied in embarrassment. "There's been something going on with—with a boy. Only I can't tell you who it is."
To her great surprise, Ginny's face split into a wide grin. "Oh, Hermione, I can't begin to tell you how excited I am to hear you say that!" She sat down on the bed, scooting closer with a conspiratorial air. "I'm in the exact same position! We can't tell anyone else about it, but maybe you and I can talk about them, you know, like all the other girls do, only we won't even tell each other who they are!"
"Er…" Hermione's mind was reeling. To have someone to talk to about Harry, about the foreign things she was feeling for him, would be a blessing. She knew that Ginny had dated boys before, so perhaps she would even be able to explain what the normal thing was to do with one's boyfriend. She still couldn't tell anyone about she and Harry explicitly, but maybe it would alleviate some of her loneliness to have someone to commiserate with about the unfairness of their situations.
"I understand if you don't want to," Ginny added quickly, seeing Hermione's hesitation. "It's just that I get so lonely sometimes, when I haven't seen him in a while and I can't even talk to anyone about it, but…" She shrugged nonchalantly. "I understand."
"No, it's—Ginny," she said, feeling terribly for hurting the other girl's feelings. "I think…well, I think it would be just marvelous to have a friend I can confide in about—about him."
"Really?" Hope filled her eyes, and the relief flooding from her was tangible between them. "I've been hiding it for so long. I just never thought there'd be someone else who would understand! So tell me," she whispered, though there was no one in the room with them, "how long has it been going on?"
"Oh, not long."
"But how long?"
"About three days, I think," Hermione replied bashfully.
"Really?" Ginny replied in apparent surprise. "I'd have thought it was much longer than that."
"Why's that?"
"Well, you've just seemed a bit awestruck for the past few weeks," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, since we've come back from the summer holidays. I thought that perhaps something had happened over the summer with somebody from school."
"Oh." Yes, that would have been the growing affection she felt for Harry as she realized that, not only had he matured greatly after the catastrophe with the prophecy and Sirius' death, but that he had also grown several inches and had a distinct air of leadership about him that had not quite been there before. The work he had done with the D.A. had certainly helped, she was sure, but what she thought it really came down to was that his adventures had always been solitary ones. She and Ron had frequently been with him, but the final moments had always been his to bear alone. The rescue attempt at the Ministry had been the first time he had led others into battle, and the loss of Sirius, as well as the injuries others had sustained—herself and Ron included—had almost assuredly opened his eyes to what it meant to be the Chosen One.
In the first week after coming back to school, Hermione had seen several young students asking Harry where things were in the castle. He was a figure they recognized, and though he usually thought that they were only asking him to say they had talked to someone famous, she suspected that it was more the energy he gave off, that told people they could follow, and he would lead them well. Even though he didn't think they really needed directions half the time, Harry had patiently directed each and every one of them to where they needed to go, treating them as equals, not as children, and offering to take them if he had the time.
Just thinking about this new side of Harry had those tingling sensations building, and she had to pull herself from her reverie to keep from further humiliation in front of Ginny. She saw the other girl was looking at her expectantly, and added, "No, it's only been the past few days. I suppose it was inevitable that I would feel the way I do, but it's still a strange thing to know that it's happening."
"I know exactly what you mean," Ginny replied, nodding fervently. "I'd have never imagined that I would end up with—with who I'm with. Ever. I still can't imagine it, sometimes, even when I'm right there in his arms."
"Oh, I imagined it plenty," Hermione countered, grinning. "I just never thought he would feel the same way. And do you know, I think it's even worse than it was before I knew he felt the same way, because I can't tell anyone, so it almost feels like it's a dream, and it's like…" she trailed off, unable to find the words.
"Like you wake up every time you step outside and no one else knows but you," Ginny finished. Hermione nodded. "It's heart-breaking sometimes, Hermione. Honestly, because...well, because we have to pretend to be with other people, and it kills me sometimes, because I can't help but wonder if that's where his heart really is, and if maybe I'm the one he's pretending for."
It struck Hermione that Ginny did have a public boyfriend, and asked, "So, Michael Corner, is he just pretend?"
"I really do like Michael. I mean he's a nice enough person, and not a half-bad kisser, but he just doesn't light up my world like—like he does." She didn't have to say it for Hermione to know who he was. It was certainly going to be difficult to avoid saying their names, but she was positive that it would be worth it to have someone to talk to. "It's just—the way he is with me." Ginny's eyes closed and she breathed deeply. "It's like the rest of the world just doesn't matter anymore, and even though we would both be—I mean, the reasons we can't let anyone else know don't even matter anymore, and all we have to do is be together for everything to be okay. I just wish," she sniffled, "that that could be us all the time, not just when he can get away from things to see me."
Hermione put a rather awkward arm around her distressed friend. "Ginny…do you love him?"
She sat up, looking confused, but a bit slap-happy. "Do you know," she whispered, a dazed smile filling her face, "I think I do. It's madness, really, but I think I love him." A tear slid silently down her cheek. She touched it as though surprised, and looked at it on her finger as she spoke. "Do you?"
"I don't know, it's not been long at all," she answered, wandering off into her own thoughts again. "I don't suppose there's a time where you go from not loving someone to loving them, not as though there's a box you can check that says, 'Ah, yesterday I didn't, but now? Today, I love him'."
Ginny giggled again and said, "No, I don't suppose there is. It would make life so much simpler, though. I haven't told him. I don't know what he'd do. He calls me 'love,' but I don't think it means quite the same thing."
"Lavender and Parvati call each other that," Hermione said, a slow grin spreading. She eyed Ginny pointedly, and they fell over in giddy laughter. They finally settled down, clutching at their sore stomachs as they lay together on Hermione's bed, staring at the familiar cover on the four-poster as each girl fell into her own thoughts.
Hermione, for her part, couldn't get her dream Harry out of her head. He had been so forceful, so open in his desire for her. That was what she wanted, for Harry to openly want her. She had seen other boys gently caress their girlfriends in the corridors, a quick kiss between classes, or a small hidden pinch that had the girl yelping in surprise. That wasn't what she and Harry could have, she realized with a small pain. They would only have those stolen moments in the library and empty classrooms.
"Ginny?" she said softly.
"Hmm?"
"What do you do with him?"
"What do you mean?"
Hermione propped herself on her elbow before speaking. "I mean, you can't go on dates in Hogsmeade or for walks around the grounds. So what do you do?"
"Oh," Ginny mused. She flushed slightly. "Mostly we sneak off to empty classrooms or dungeons. Sometimes broom cupboards. We actually went to the Room of Requirement several times, which was lovely."
"What did you do there?" she asked innocently.
"What do you think we do?" she replied, mirroring Hermione's position. "We kiss and we touch…and then we shag." Her smile was so wide, Hermione thought it might not all fit on her face. "And after, we just spend as much time as we can together. Just talking and holding each other…" Her gaze had drifted off into the middle distance, clearly thinking about nothing more than her mysterious lover. "And then sometimes we shag again," she said, winking impishly at Hermione.
"What's it, erm…what's it like?" Hermione asked, not quite able to look at her friend.
"Shagging?"
"Yes." She played with the hem of her sheets, still unwilling to look at Ginny.
"You mean you've never shagged before? Not even once?" She sounded incredulous, and Hermione finally had to look up at her in dismay.
"When would I have? In case you hadn't noticed, the boys here find me a bit repulsive."
"Well, I thought perhaps while you were at home during holidays, or perhaps with Krum," Ginny offered blankly. "I guess I hadn't really thought of it, but, well, everyone does, don't they? And obviously," she added, grinning again, "not all of them find you repulsive."
"No, I suppose not all of them," Hermione conceded with a sarcastic smile. "There's a blessing. So what's it like? Is it amazing?"
"Well, with Michael Corner it was mostly just awkward. And it hurt a lot. Kind of a lot, actually. But with—with him, it's like—like nothing I can even put into words. The way he holds me is just so, so, so, so I can't even say what it's like. Like he doesn't want anything or anyone but me and I'm all that matters and for that moment it's just the two of us and there's no war or hatred or blood feuds or house colors or the Order or the Death Eaters or anything and we're just together. He makes me feel…complete.
"School romances shouldn't feel like that, Hermione. I just know that's not normal, and what's even worse, is that with the war going on, and You-Know-Who back to power, there's absolutely nothing that should be more important than staying loyal to the cause and if anyone found out—oh Merlin, I don't even know what would happen."
"Ginny," Hermione said slowly, "is he on—on the other side of the war?"
"His family is," she whispered in a defeated tone. "He's not, though, but if they ever knew, I think—I think his family would kill him." She whispered the last almost silently, so that Hermione had to lean in to hear.
"You can't mean that."
"No, I do. It's dangerous for us to be together, so please Hermione, don't even tell anyone about it, please!" she begged.
"Oh, Ginny, of course I won't," Hermione whispered, hugging her friend close. "I think we may be a danger, too, to ourselves."
"Everyone seems to have enemies now," Ginny sobbed into Hermione's shoulder. "It's as though there's nothing that can be innocent or simple. There's always betrayal and death and loyalty to worry about too, and it's just not fair."
"The world is seldom fair," she said thoughtfully. "But at least we've found them. And each other. Things will be easier now, won't it? Now that we both have someone to talk to?"
"I hope so."
They were silent for several minutes, when there was a knock on the door. It cracked open and Lavender poked her face in. "Ginny? Harry says you'd better get down there, or you can watch practice from the bleachers with everyone else."
Ginny rolled her eyes and said to Hermione, "I'd better get going. Are you going to come watch practice?"
"Would that be alright? I don't want to get in anybody's way."
"Of course not. People usually watch from the stands," she replied easily, watching Lavender close the door behind her. "It might even help you get your mind off your boy troubles." Hermione held back a scoff at the irony of Ginny's suggestion, but nevertheless grabbed her wand from her bedside table, and, tucking it into her robes, followed her new confidante down the stairs to the common room.
When the rounded the bottom of the stairs, Hermione saw most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team gathered near the portrait hole. Ron and one of the Chasers she didn't know stood with nothing but their brooms in their hands. The others, whom Hermione assumed would be using school brooms, were empty-handed as they all waited for Ginny.
"Are you coming to practice?" Ron asked, rather curtly she thought.
"Er, yes," she replied awkwardly. "If that's alright, I mean."
He shrugged noncommittally. "As you like. C'mon you lot; Captain's already down at the pitch."
~%%~
A/N: Terrible ending, lo siento, but I'm anxious to get to the good stuff!
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 13 was actually really tough to pick this time! I had two favs, but the best came from ThePyromaniac, who not only has a fabulous name, but who said: "SOOO many squee moments." Also, shout-outs to actressen and Lauren-Nicole33, who have been two of the kindest reviews so far.
Rock on, keep reading, and as always, review!
cj596