It's In the Way You Know Me by Bingblot

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 26/08/2005
Last Updated: 26/08/2005
Status: Completed

In which Hermione reads, Harry is distracted, and Harry distracts Hermione in a very... pleasant
manner... Fluff, smut and maybe a drive-by mention of plot. One-shot SWS.




1. It's In The Way You Know Me
------------------------------

Disclaimer: If only I did own HP, what wonderful things I could do… Have H/Hr live happily ever
after, for one. Bring Sirius back from the dead… Kill off Ginny!Sue and bring back invisible!Ginny
of Books 1-4… Unfortunately, JKR is refusing to sell me her copyright so I will stick to writing
fanfiction and not getting paid for it.

Author’s Note: Written for the Fanfict00bs Community on LiveJournal’s Birthday Challenge using
the following elements--

Settings:
Hogwarts Library, the Restricted Section
The Room of Requirement
(And anywhere far far away from Super!Ginny) ;-)

Quotes:
"Harry, ugh, what is that thing?"
"Are you sure that it says..*ohh*..that we..*yes*..are on the right
track?"
"Hermione!...Well, it is an interesting proposition..."

Items:
Hippogriff tattoo
*Hogwarts, a History*
Shoes
Wand
Gloves
Homework planner

**It’s In the Way You Know Me**

Harry was lying on the floor by the fireplace in Gryffindor Common Room, idly flipping through a
book on Dark Magic through the ages. He should be reading, he knew that, trying to learn something
useful from the book, but he couldn’t concentrate. Not when he could see Hermione sitting in a
chair rereading *Hogwarts, a History*, with a frown of concentration on her face as she tried
to find any clues she might find on relics of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor which might still exist.

They were alone in the Common Room as Ron had gone to see his parents on one of his monthly
visits which Mrs. Weasley had insisted on so she could see him with her own eyes and make sure he
was still safe, in one piece. And though he knew perfectly well that he was welcome to accompany
Ron, he never had. The presence of Ginny served to make the Burrow uncomfortable and he preferred
to stay away.

So they were alone.

Hogwarts hadn’t re-opened; although the Board of Governors had considered it seriously, thanks
to McGonagall’s protests, they’d decided, after the number of owls they’d received from horrified
parents, that Hogwarts should remain closed. He, Ron and Hermione had adopted Hogwarts as their
unofficial base as they continued the search for the last horcrux as it was, as Hermione had
pointed out, still a very powerful magical place and the best source of magical information, thanks
to its library. It was also probably still safer than most other places they could possibly stay
at.

They were alone—and that was really the problem.

He couldn’t concentrate on the book with Hermione there. He didn’t exactly understand why or
when it had happened but lately, he found himself being constantly distracted around her—staring at
her. Had she always been so- well, pretty? Had her slight frown when she was concentrating always
made her look so… so cute? Had she always had the habit of biting her lower lip when she thought
about something—that only fixated his attention more on her lips as it seemed to make her lower lip
look even fuller and more kissable?

When he’d first found himself staring at Hermione’s lips, he’d been almost horrified. Hermione
was his best friend! And even if she and Ron weren’t going out anymore, she was still off-limits.
Wasn’t she? And besides, he didn’t fancy Hermione in that way. He couldn’t. Could he?

He couldn’t fancy her… he knew he didn’t feel the same way about Hermione as he had (it seemed
like so long ago, another lifetime ago, practically, even though it had only been a few months
really) felt about Ginny… Hermione was—different. She’d always been different, he realized. Even
when he’d been with Ginny, he’d known she was different. She was—just Hermione. His best friend,
the girl he trusted the most, the one he turned to for help when he was uncertain… Just Hermione…
the one who’d always been there for him.

And he couldn’t stop staring at her lips. Wondering how it would feel to kiss them, to taste
her…

“Harry, ugh, what is that thing?”

Hermione’s voice startled him out of his reverie and his thoughts about her lips and he started
and blinked.

“Huh, what?”

She frowned slightly. “Aren’t you reading? You should be,” she said. “Do I need to remind you
again…”

Turning slightly she said clearly, “Accio Homework planner,” making a small motion with her
wand, and then caught his old homework planner that she’d given him in 5th year in her
hand, opening it to the last page and handing it to him.

He looked at it, though he already knew what he’d see and why. He’d scrawled, “Find the rest of
the horcruxes and destroy them,” across the last page as his last “assignment” from Hogwarts,
half-jokingly, half-seriously, one day when he’d been going through his things and found the
planner again. Hermione had smiled at the sight of it although she looked quite serious now.

“I know,” he said quickly. “Sorry. I was just thinking…”

“Was it about…”

“It wasn’t about the horcruxes,” he interrupted her before she could finish her question. “It
was—it was nothing, really,” he finished dismissively, adding only in thought, *nothing I could
tell you about, at least*. He didn’t even want to *think* about Hermione’s reaction if he
told her he hadn’t been thinking about the horcruxes, that it hadn’t even crossed his mind in the
last hour or so because he’d been too busy staring at her, watching her, wondering what it would be
like to kiss her…

She shook her head a little but didn’t say anything more, only turned back to the page he was
on.

“What is that thing, in that picture in your book?” she repeated and pointed it out.

He glanced down; he must have turned the page earlier without even realizing it in his
preoccupation.

He shuddered slightly at the picture, not surprised that she’d reacted in that way. It was a
vaguely humanoid form, staggering around in a way that was indicative of so much pain he was almost
surprised he couldn’t hear anything from the picture itself, but so disfigured he could only guess
that it had once been a person.

He hurriedly cut his gaze away from the horrible vision to look at the caption. “It’s a man who
was hit with ten different curses at the same time—some of those curses reacted badly with the
others and he ended up like this,” he read aloud and then shuddered, turning the page so as not to
see it anymore.

She made a small sound of horror and he looked up at her to see that she had paled slightly, one
hand having gone up to her mouth. “God, that’s awful,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

He looked down at the carpet. That was another reason he needed to do this, needed to defeat
Voldemort, to stop cruelty such as what had happened to that unfortunate man…

Filled with renewed determination, he went back to reading, steadfastly refusing to lift his
eyes from his book to look at Hermione. Although, lately, it seemed as if he’d developed a sixth
sense where Hermione was concerned, so even if he wasn’t looking at her, he was always aware of
her. He knew when she turned a page, he knew when she glanced down at him, he knew when she shifted
positions in her chair…

And all the while part of his mind wondered why he never seemed to think about Ginny anymore
except to think about how Hermione was so different—*better,* a small voice in his mind
inserted. When had he started to think about Hermione so much? When had he started to care about
Hermione so much?

*Always*, his mind answered for him—and he stiffened with surprise. It was true… He’d
always cared about Hermione, always thought about her—maybe not so much about her lips—but she’d
always been there… Even when he’d been with Ginny, he’d cared about Hermione, trusted Hermione
more… Why had it never occurred to him before; why had he never stopped to compare his feelings for
Ginny and for Hermione? It was so obvious, suddenly—he’d always cared more about Hermione, if he
had only stopped to think about it…

“Ooohh!”

Again, his reverie was interrupted, this time by Hermione making an odd noise that, on any other
girl, he would have called a squeal but on Hermione just sounded, well, odd.

“What is it?” he asked, looking up at her.

Her eyes were shining as she looked at him—and he was momentarily distracted again by the
thought of how pretty she was. “I think I might have found something. I just need to check to see
if I’m right about this. The only thing is, it means going to the Restricted Section. Do you
mind?”

He sat up, pulling on his shoes which he’d kicked off earlier. “No, I don’t mind.” He lifted his
wand. “Accio Invisibility Cloak,” and caught his cloak as it came flying over.

They might be staying at Hogwarts in an unprecedented situation, but Professor McGonagall had
specifically laid down some rules (and whether she was officially their Professor or not, she still
had enough authority with all three of them that disobeying her wasn’t something they would do
lightly). The first being that they wouldn’t wander around the castle alone, especially at night
and the second that, although they would have full access to the library, they would need to stay
out of the Restricted Section unless Madam Pince was present, just in case. And while there were no
points to be taken off, the presence of Peeves and Filch served as incentive enough to at least not
be caught while breaking the few rules which McGonagall had insisted on. (To say nothing of the
biting power of McGonagall’s scoldings.)

He looked over at Hermione with a slight smile. “Ok, let’s go.”

Looking back, Harry would laugh at the thought that he should probably actually be grateful to
Filch for his habit of skulking around the castle. It had certainly made the night a lot more
pleasant than he would have thought—although less than productive on the whole
finding-the-last-horcrux mission.

Hermione had found a book detailing the last days of the Founders, including their deaths at the
hands of some of Slytherin’s followers, even after Salazar Slytherin had been defeated, and was
looking through it by the light of her wand when he’d heard the sound of Filch’s footsteps and
hurriedly whispered, “Nox,” while grabbing Hermione and throwing his Invisibility Cloak over the
both of them as they waited tensely.

They could hear Filch passing by, muttering to himself, and held their breaths.

And despite the situation, he couldn’t help but realize that his Invisibility Cloak was really
not that large… He was pressed against Hermione from the shoulders down, her hair in his face, as
she automatically curled into him. He could feel every inch of where her body was touching his,
could feel the heat from their bodies, could feel his heart starting to beat faster, as his mind
started thinking decidedly un-platonic thoughts about Hermione.

He wondered nervously whether Hermione felt the same thing, whether she felt anything at all
from being so close to him. Maybe she didn’t… maybe she only thought of him as being her best
friend and the thought of anything more had never crossed her mind… He stifled a sigh at that
thought.

It was only after they heard the sound of Filch’s footsteps fading that she finally moved to put
a little space between them.

“That was close,” she whispered. “Lucky you heard him coming because I didn’t.”

Was he imagining it or was she slightly breathless? And could that be—*was* that because of
how closely they’d been pressed together for the last few minutes?

He wished he could see her face but it was still too dim in the library and she’d bent over the
book again so her hair fell down and shielded her face from his gaze.

“Hermione, can I- can I kiss you?” He stopped. Oh dear Merlin, had he just said that
out-loud?

She was staring at him, her eyes wide, and he wished desperately for a hole to open up beneath
him and just swallow him up. He hadn’t meant to ask that; he hadn’t meant to say anything. He’d
just been thinking and wondering and—and it had just slipped out of his mouth.

He’d been looking anywhere but at her but finally, he had to look up at her.

She was smiling but more than that, there was something in her eyes—a look he couldn’t remember
ever having seen before, or maybe it had always been there and he’d just been too blind, and
distracted by other things, to see it—and he *knew* that she cared about him too. Cared about
him as more than just a friend, cared about him as much as he cared about her… And he decided at
that moment that he’d never seen anything anywhere so beautiful, never *would* see anything so
beautiful, as Hermione, with that smile on her face and the new softness in her shining eyes.

“Yes,” was all she said but it was all he needed and he stepped closer to her, forgetting that
they were in the library, forgetting that Filch or Peeves might still come back, forgetting
everything but her.

Slowly, he slipped his arms around her waist and bent his head, his eyes closing, and he kissed
her. He kissed her. Gently, at first, but then she parted her lips on a small sigh and he deepened
the kiss, his tongue moving inside her mouth to taste her, his arms bringing her even closer to
him.

And he thought that this was what he’d been waiting for all along…

She was the first one to break the kiss, gently, moving out of his arms, though she was flushed
and breathless. “Harry, we really should get back to work,” she said reluctantly.

He resisted the urge to pout. After all, this was part of what he loved about her, wasn’t it? He
loved that she was so smart, that she loved to read, that she was so determined to help him, that
she was as determined as he was to find and destroy the horcruxes… Because it was all part of
her…

And, besides, they could always resume this later…

He moved to sit beside her as she handed him another book to look through.

“In *Hogwarts, a History,* I found a little mention of a pair of gloves that Rowena
Ravenclaw had. Some people thought she had put enchantments on the gloves to make the wearer more
powerful in some way but the gloves disappeared. I want to see whether they might be the object of
hers which Voldemort found and made into a horcrux. Look in that book and see if you find any
mention of Ravenclaw’s gloves reappearing, will you?”

And he didn’t even mind that she used her rather bossy Prefect tone as he opened the book. This
was Hermione and some part of her would always be a little bossy—but she was usually right too…

He determinedly turned his attention to the book she’d handed him, trying to skim through the
pages searching for any mention of gloves or Ravenclaw.

He stiffened, rereading the passage he’d just passed his eye over.

*The death of Rowena Ravenclaw, the last of the Founders of Hogwarts to die, was greeted with
universal sorrow and within a number of years, objects which people claimed to have belonged to her
were appearing in stores in Diagon Alley and even in Knockturn Alley with all sorts of claims as to
their powers, some less believable than others. Among these items was a pair of gloves- described
to have an odd embroidered pattern along the wrists-- which were sold to an unidentified wizard
from the store of Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley…*

“Hermione, I think I might have found something.”

“Ooh, good. Let me see it,” Hermione responded excitedly and slid over until she was pressed
against his side as she read the page he was on.

Harry promptly lost all interest in Rowena Ravenclaw or gloves or horcruxes or, indeed, anything
else in the world but the warm body pressed so close to his, the bit of smooth skin on her neck
which he could see—and for the first time he realized that wearing Muggle clothes was really a
blessing as it allowed for much easier access to a person’s skin than their school robes did. If he
bent just a little, he could smell her; she smelled of soap and lotion, a hint of roses, and books
and ink—and it was amazing just how appealing the smell of books and ink became when it was on
Hermione…

He could hear her murmuring to herself as she read ahead, searching for any further mention of
the gloves.

And he lost his inner battle and gave in to temptation, kissing the spot on her neck left bare
between her hair and the collar of her shirt, loving the slight shiver he felt go through her at
the touch of his lips to her skin.

“Are you sure that it says… *ohh**…* that we… *yes…* are on the right track?”
Hermione managed to gasp, tilting her head of her own volition to allow him greater access, her
hands falling from the book.

He hardly heard her question—and even if he had heard it, he doubted he’d have anything coherent
to say as all his attention was focused on her neck and the sensitive spots which his mouth and
tongue were currently occupied with.

She gave a breathy little moan that seemed to send all the blood in his body rushing down south
even faster than it already was.

He was surprised to realize that his hands had slipped under her shirt and were resting on the
warm, bare skin of her side and stomach—and stopped, unsure of whether she’d let him continue or
whether he should continue.

But she shifted closer to him, turning so her lips met his and he lost himself in the taste of
her, his hands bringing her in even closer to him, somehow, his fingers moving in idle caresses of
her back and sides.

He felt her hands move from where they’d been resting on his shoulders up to tangle her fingers
in his hair as she parted her lips even more, kissing him back…

Slowly, he felt himself falling backwards with her on top of him, not breaking the kiss, as his
hands grew bolder in their caresses, roaming all over her back but refraining from undoing her bra
until he received some sign from her… Which didn’t stop his hands from roaming just about
everywhere else. He could feel every inch of her body pressed against him and knew she could feel
the proof of his own excitement against her.

She was the first one to finally break the kiss, moving so she was no longer on top of him and
he felt a surge of disappointment.

He knew it; he’d gotten carried away; they’d been moving too fast, getting to the point of no
return… He sat up as well, slowly, almost afraid to look at her for fear that he’d see that she was
annoyed with him or- or something.

And for the first time, he came to a realization of where they were and could hardly believe how
far they’d gone, in the library, the Restricted Section of all places, when Peeves or Filch or
anyone could still come in and interrupt them… They were on a stone floor! He cared more about
Hermione than that; she was more than just a quick shag on the floor; she deserved a real bed and
candlelight and flowers and- and all that other stuff that girls liked…

He finally looked up at her to see that she’d tucked her shirt back in to her skirt and tried to
neaten her appearance generally, though her lips were still swollen and her face flushed. But she
didn’t look upset.

She glanced at the books which they’d been reading, still lying open on the floor, and as if
she’d made a decision, shut them both and put them back on the shelf where they could easily find
them again, before looking up at him.

“Let’s go to the Room of Requirement—to finish what we started,” she said, very quickly, almost
stumbling over the words, and not quite meeting his eyes as she blushed hotly.

He stared, sure he’d imagined what she’d just said. She couldn’t have—she hadn’t—just suggested
what he thought she had… He was going delusional, hearing things… He must be—right?

Then he saw her face and he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

“Hermione!... Well, it is an interesting proposition…” he amended hastily, as a flash of hurt
crossed her expression at his first shocked exclamation, trying to restrain his grin.

And he knew then and there that he was completely and irrevocably in love with this girl,
*his* Hermione. He’d known her for so long now, more than 6 years, knew her so well. He knew
her bossy tendencies, her cleverness, her love of books, her respect for the rules, her courage,
her loyalty, her humor, her sometimes-surprising insecurities, her honesty… He’d thought he’d known
all there was to know about her—but he hadn’t known *this* side of her, that she could be so-
so honest about what she wanted, so responsive, so—willing, so, well, completely kissable… She
could still surprise him, even after all these years. He loved that she could still surprise
him.

He bent and grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, sticking his wand in his pocket, and then took her
hand, wondering as he did so if she could hear how fast his heart was beating since it sounded
abnormally loud in his own ears.

They walked in silence through the corridors until they reached the 7th floor and the
hallway with the tapestry of Barnabas the Balmy when he finally got the nerve to look at her and
felt a pang of guilt at how he’d just hurried her out of the library without saying a word.

He stopped, turning to face her, one hand going up to cup her cheek as his eyes searched
hers.

She was still flushed and he thought- yet again- that she really was beautiful, so beautiful—and
he could only wonder how it could possibly have taken him so long to notice it.

“We don’t- we don’t have to do this,” he finally blurted out. “Not unless you want to, not
unless you’re sure. I- it- it’s okay if you don’t. I- I care more about you than that; I don’t want
to do anything you don’t want…”

She cut him off with her lips, kissing him until he lost all power of thought, forgot what he’d
been saying or about to say, forgot everything except for her and that he loved her…

She was smiling when the kiss finally ended and he could only stare at her as she said softly,
“Thank you for that but I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, if I didn’t want this.” She
kissed him again, quickly, just brushing her lips against his. “I want *you*,” she finished
quietly.

He was, he decided, the luckiest boy in the world—to have her for a friend, to have her care
about him the way she did… And he loved her.

He couldn’t speak, didn’t know what he would say, but, he suddenly realized, he could show
her…

He walked back and forth past the blank wall three times, thinking of what he’d thought earlier
of what she deserved, a place to show Hermione how much he loved her…

The door appeared and he opened it and led her in.

She gasped, one hand going up to her mouth, and he was hard-put not to gape himself. He’d never
seen the Room of Requirement like this. It looked—it looked perfect…

It was dimly lit with candles placed around the room and in the center was a large, very
comfortable-looking bed (the comforter a shade of Gryffindor red), and beside it on a small table
was a vase full of red and yellow roses. (He remembered something he’d read or heard somewhere—that
yellow roses meant friendship and red roses meant love—and he could only think that the Room of
Requirement really did, somehow, know everything.)

She turned to stare at him and he managed a half-embarrassed smile. “Do you like it?” he asked
rather lamely.

“Oh Harry,” she breathed and then she had thrown herself against him in a hug that nearly
knocked him off his feet, rather like the hug she’d given him at the beginning of 5th
year when he’d first arrived at Grimmauld Place. “You’re so sweet and I can’t believe you thought
of all this and, oh Harry, I love you for it…”

He mentally thanked the Room of Requirement, his arms going around her waist, tightening around
her—and then she kissed him (or maybe he kissed her—he didn’t know and it didn’t matter).

And before he knew exactly how or when they’d crossed the room, she was falling back onto the
bed, bringing him with her, still kissing. His hands slipped under her shirt as he fumbled with the
clasp of her bra, his fingers clumsy with inexperience and with lust. She stopped him with a hand
and he stifled a groan but then saw her face, the slight smile and the blush on her face. Holding
his gaze with her own, she deliberately unbuttoned her top, slipping it off, and then, reaching
behind her, undid her bra, shrugging that off as well leaving her bare to his gaze from the waist
up. She stopped, making an unconscious move to cover herself as he stared at her, speechless, and
her movement finally loosened his tongue and he managed to croak, “Don’t.”

Her hands fell as he lifted one trembling hand to trace a line from her throat down until his
hand finally cupped her breast. She let out a trembling breath, her eyes fluttering closed as her
head fell back.

“You- you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, almost reverently.

She shook her head automatically. “I’m not beautiful,” she protested quietly.

He shook his head though he knew she wouldn’t see it with her eyes closed. “No, you are… Look at
you…” His voice trailed off as he bent forward, his mouth closing over her nipple and she jerked
with surprise, letting out a gasp, her hands flying to his hair.

He licked and sucked, nibbled and teased—and worshipped—his hands equally occupied in caressing
the smooth skin of her stomach and back, his fingers hooking into the waist of her pants, pushing
them down impatiently. She moved to help him, lifting her hips allowing him to slide them off,
leaving her in only her knickers and her socks.

“Harry,” she gasped softly when he resumed his attentions to her breast. “Your clothes.”

He stopped and hastily stripped off his shirt and pants, taking his boxer shorts with them, and
then his hands (and his breath) stilled as her hands moved to touch him, flattening her palms
against his chest, lightly caressing, as she, in her turn, leaned forwards to touch her tongue to
his male nipple and he groaned, wondering if this was how she felt when he had done the same to
her, if she had felt the same heat, the same lust, racing through her body as he felt now.

Her hand slid further down his body to cup him and he shuddered, his eyes opening again to see
the look on her face—a look of concentration almost as if she were learning him and his responses
much as she learned the spells in their textbooks. At any other time, if he’d been able to think
more coherently, he might have smiled at this evidence of the Hermione he knew, who loved to learn,
but her hands had completely robbed his brain of any ability to think. Her hands- *great God, her
hands…* they cupped and stroked and explored, her fingers roaming over every rock-hard inch of
him and his hips jerked of their own accord until finally he stopped her hand.

“I- I can’t,” he gasped out and moved to kiss her, his tongue sliding against her lips and then
thrusting into her mouth, one hand returning to her breast, to cup and squeeze and press his palm
against the hardened tip of her nipple as his other hand slid down to touch the center of her,
nudging her knickers aside, that part of her body that was hot and wet and so ready for him…

She pushed her knickers off impatiently as he let his mouth wander over her body, leaving a wet
trail of kisses, licking here, sucking there, savoring every gasp, every shudder, every moan.

Great God, but who would have known the sounds she made could be so arousing in and of
themselves? Who could have guessed that *Hermione* could make such sounds?

They were both completely naked now and he stared, some semblance of coherence returning to his
mind for that fleeting moment, suddenly wondering how they’d come to be here, doing this…

His eyes met hers and he knew she was thinking much the same thing before she lifted her head to
kiss him and he felt sheer lust take over his mind and body again, letting all other thoughts
fade.

She broke the kiss to gasp, “Wait.” He nearly groaned but then realized why as she reached for
her wand and stopped her.

“Let me do it,” he said quietly—and she nodded, understanding as he’d known she would, the
emotion behind his volunteering to do this, to protect her in this way.

He concentrated, thinking the words to the contraceptive charm, and knew she felt the warmth
from the charm flood her body as her eyes widened slightly.

Her eyes thanked him and then she kissed him again, her tongue sliding along his lips this time
and effectively shutting off his brain from any thoughts but those of her.

His hands slid down from where they’d been caressing her breasts, down her sides to her hips to
the core of her body, one hand cupping her, feeling the wetness of her arousal.

Acting more on instinct than knowledge, he slid one finger inside her and then smiled against
her lips as she cried out.

“I- I want…” she gasped as he slipped his finger out of her and moved until he was positioned at
her entrance.

“Hermione, I don’t want to hurt you,” he managed to croak and she shook her head, her fingers
sliding into his hair bringing his lips to hers as she kissed him hard.

“You won’t,” she breathed softly against his lips and that was all he needed, easing forward
slowly until he was fully buried inside her.

She stiffened, stifling a cry against his shoulder and he flinched in spite of his arousal,
hating the thought of causing her pain but then she kissed him again as her body softened, becoming
accustomed to his intrusion, her hands gripping his butt, urging him in closer, deeper…

His hips thrust of their own volition, only feeling the way her body welcomed him, responded to
him, fit him as if she’d been made for this, as if they’d been made for this—and perhaps, they had
been…

She clung to him as their mouths met again, his tongue naturally falling into the same rhythm as
his hips, feeling the tingling sensation, the heat, building inside him until he knew he was going
to come.

It was only another few seconds before he did, his body exploding, fireworks going off in his
vision, and he cried out, thrusting fully a last time and then he was vaguely aware of her body
clenching around his, her hands clutching at his shoulders and back, her head being thrown back
until the cords in her throat stood out as she screamed…

He collapsed on top of her, feeling as if every bone in his body had been turned to water, just
managing to pull her in closer to him, his lips brushing her forehead.

She snuggled in close to him, letting out a long, contented sigh, her breath tickling his
cheek.

He could feel the exhaustion creeping in and succumbed to it, content in the knowledge that
Hermione was here, beside him…

He awoke to feel her hands tracing idle patterns on his chest and opened his eyes, thankful that
she was lying close enough that he could see her clearly without his glasses. (He paused to wonder,
fleetingly, where his glasses were—he really had no specific memory of having taken them off or
where he’d dropped them; he’d been too preoccupied with other, more—interesting—things…)

She was smiling and he asked, softly, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking—that now I know for sure that you don’t have a hippogriff tattoo on your
body…”

He smiled slightly. “Did you think I would have?”

“No; I just found it funny the sort of rumors that went on about you.”

He shrugged.

“They really don’t know you at all, do they?”

His gaze met hers, suddenly serious now. “Nobody knows me the way you do,” he told her quietly,
soberly, knowing she would understand that he didn’t mean, in the physical way only, but in every
way. No one knew him the way she did, understood his thoughts without his having to say anything,
knew what troubled him and why he did the things he did. She knew; she understood… And maybe that
was the difference; that was what made her different, *more*… Not just a girl he fancied, not
just a girl he liked to snog or even a girl he liked to shag—but a girl, *the* girl, the girl
he *loved*…

She knew him—and she loved him anyway… It was, he thought as he slipped his hand behind her neck
to bring her lips in to his, the greatest gift he’d ever received.

*“Love isn't based on merit; it's a gift from the angels. No matter how much we may
try to be worthy of it or insist it into our lives - by preparing ourselves, by being in the right
place, by trying to be deserving - love when it comes is a purely gratuitous gift, an unexpected
miracle." -Daphne Rose Kingma*

*"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved for
ourselves, or rather, loved in spite of ourselves." -Victor Hugo*

~The End~



