The two weeks that followed was strangely Weasley free. Not that they didn’t want Ron to be there, but they had quite a few things to work out between them, still, and perhaps it was better if Ron wasn’t there to interrupt all the time.
Ron wrote them, of course, and Harry was just glad Ron hadn’t asked him questions about Hermione. He didn’t know if he could stand to lie to Ron about her, and he wasn’t sure how to say what he had to say about it, either.
Harry had wondered, time and again, how he was going to break such a thing to their best friend, especially if Ron fancied her.
Oh, by the way, Ron, he imagined himself writing. Hermione and I have been sleeping together every day, sometimes two times a day, in the last two weeks. I hope that’s alright with you.
The mere prospect of it made him groan.
Hermione was mum about what Ron wrote her. She certainly didn’t look as if they bothered her, and Harry thought that was a good sign. Of course, the fact that Ron had mentioned absolutely nothing about it could mean it was bad, too.
Harry wondered if Hermione was capable of lying to Ron to spare his feelings but realized that Hermione would never do such a thing.
Ginny wrote to him, as well.
Her letters were filled with chatter and good cheer, as if they had never been anything more than friends in the sixth year but he noticed, with slight apprehension, that she always signed her letters, “Love, Ginny.”
He didn’t know if it meant anything, but he thought maybe he had to be careful about what he wrote her back.
His first reply to Ginny was a smashing failure, as after he gave it a read, it was filled with “Hermione and I” and “We” and “Us.”
Honestly, why don’t I just tell her Hermione and I just finished showering together and that my hair’s still wet as I’m writing this?
He didn’t want to encourage Ginny, but he didn’t want to be mean if she still had feelings for him, either. So he had to redo his letter, crossing out sentences and phrases. He left a smattering of “Hermione and I” while he sprinkled some Remus in the mix. The letter ended up being very short, and it occurred to him that it was because everything he had been doing included Hermione somehow, and that left very little to tell if he was going to avoid “Hermione and I” in his letters.
By the fourth letter, Harry was tired of editing and decided that he would just write whatever came to mind. Consequently, that lengthened the letter a bit, but only because “Hermione and I” wasn’t being edited out anymore.
Ginny stopped writing after the seventh letter.
When Remus told them at dinner that Ron and Arthur would be arriving the following day at Grimmauld Place, Harry tried not to look so flustered. He desperately avoided meeting Hermione’s eyes as he was sure Remus would find them out if he was caught looking.
Remus had, for the most part, said nothing about having seen them kissing in Harry’s bedroom. They were careful, anyhow, not to get caught kissing or doing God Knew What.
Harry prayed the old werewolf really didn’t know the things they did when he wasn’t around, and that he wasn’t just turning a blind eye to it all.
Even Harry blushed at the mere memory of how he and Hermione had carried on in the last two weeks. Mrs. Black would be hideously outraged.
He didn’t know what got into him, sometimes. He wasn’t exactly the most experienced young man in the world (not by a long shot!), but he had, in the two short weeks he had been with Hermione, begun to understand what “chemistry” meant. It was almost crazy how he often felt that he knew exactly what he was doing in that respect, and the fact that Hermione never complained about when, where and how hadn’t helped his self restraint, either.
After their adventure in the linen room, they seemed to have made a playground of the entire house. They’d done it in the most likely and unlikely places. And the library! Oh, how they liked that library!
Sometimes, he would find himself spacing out and thinking, Good heavens! I did that? WE did that? But quite understandably, it wasn’t something he thought anywhere near dreadful. The inevitable blush that followed was almost always attached to a grin.
Being with her was slowly becoming some kind of obsession. He didn’t know if it was healthy, but it felt so good that he didn’t lose sleep thinking about it. All he knew was that hearing and feeling her pushed over the edge was essential.
She was certainly intent on driving him spare with lust. He didn’t know how she knew so much about the male anatomy, and he could only surmise that she had read up on it, but he wasn’t about to complain, either. The woman knew how to turn him into some kind of randy maniac, and while he didn’t mind this in the least, it was almost as if she were punishing him for something, because she would work him up in the most inopportune times, usually when he can do nothing but wait until the coast was clear before he had her shoved up against the wall and—well, there went the general idea.
Overall, it had been a complete escape from his worries; his entire life, really. With her, he hadn’t had to think about the sordid details of horcruxes, or Dark Lords, or Ministries. He wondered if she somehow decided he needed this escape and that she was doing all of it for him.
He hoped not. It was more gratifying to know that she was doing it for herself, as well. Being with her; getting lost in her, had been half about giving her something, too. And it wasn’t just sexual, either. It was the comfortable companionship; the pleasant promises that her mere presence implied; the quiet laughter and those words they exchanged with their eyes.
He sighed.
So now Ron and Arthur would be there the next day. It was like a wrench in the fantasy and he would soon have to face the reality of it all. Funny how he had considered the Weasleys to be his escape, two week ago.
Harry’s eyes practically glazed over at the prospect of Hermione wreaking mad havoc on his libido now that surely, they wouldn’t have as many opportunities to be alone.
“Will they be spending the rest of the summer with us, then?” asked Hermione in a perfectly unaffected voice.
“Just Ron, and yes, he is expected to spend the rest of summer here,” said Remus, smiling gently. “Funny how you say that. Are you going somewhere in the fall? Should I take this to mean then that you’re planning to go back to Hogwarts if it opens?”
That knocked Harry out of his stupor. He looked at Hermione and saw that there was nothing but cold determination there.
“I’ll only go back to Hogwarts if Harry does,” she said.
Remus looked shocked by this, and Harry felt an overwhelming wave of warmth. He knew what Hogwarts meant to Hermione. He knew that under any other circumstance, Hermione wouldn’t forego Hogwarts for anything, yet here she was, telling Remus without a hint of hesitation that she would skip Hogwarts if Harry did.
Just for that, Harry wondered if he should go back at all, just so she could.
“And he can’t, really,” she continued, as if determined to settle the matter as she calmly scooped some mashed potatoes on her plate. “He has a world of important things to do. I’m going to help him. Ron said he’d join us, of course. He said so in his letters. So he’s not going back to Hogwarts either.”
“Hermione…” Harry breathed, awed by her friendship and loyalty.
She flashed him a radiant smiled. He thought maybe that was the moment he realized he loved her. There were a million other things that made her the kind of special girl he always thought she was; he might have loved her forever, for all he knew, but it was then he really said it to himself, and meant it.
Christ almighty, I love this woman.
Remus wasn’t quite so emotional. He frowned. “Hermione, are you sure? And I can ask the same of you, Harry. I understand the importance of everything; this war; its consequences; but school… it’s important, too. And Hermione, shoot me with a silver bullet if you don’t become Head Girl this year.”
She shrugged. “It’s just a title, Remus. What am I going to do with that when we’re fighting a war? Deduct house-points from a Death Eater? I don’t think Antonin Dolohov is going to defer to me when I tell him to drop his wand because I’m Head Girl.”
I love her. I truly do. I truly, madly, deeply love her.
But in spite of his inner revelations, he took control of himself and sighed, half-exasperated with himself. “Hermione, it means a lot to me that you’re doing this, but Remus has a point.”
“Shut it, Potter. There’s nothing they can teach me in Hogwarts that I don’t already know. Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time in the library?”
He looked at her, eyebrow raised. So we can shag?
She reddened, seeing the answer in his eyes. To her credit, she kept her poise valiantly. “To do some seventh year reading, is what. And while I might have to devote some extra time in the future to try brewing some potions for practice, I think I’d be able to pass my N.E.W.T.s with reasonable results should I ever get the notion to take them.”
He supposed he should have expected that she would still think about taking her N.E.W.T.s. She was Hermione after all.
Remus sighed, the determination in her eyes making it clearer that he wasn’t going to convince her to go back to school. If he couldn’t get Hermione to go back to Hogwarts, then there was little to be hoped from Harry and Ron.
“Minerva’s going to blame me for this,” Remus grumbled. “I just know it.”
Hermione grinned. “Oh, she won’t. I have a nice long letter prepared for her when we’re asked back. She’ll be terribly disappointed in me, of course, but she isn’t going to be blaming anyone for it.”
Harry thought briefly that McGonagall might blame him for leading her favorite student astray, but to his surprise, Hermione smiled at him and put a hand on his thigh, rubbing it reassuringly.
He smiled back, reaching for some pot roast, when her hand crept higher, her fingers brushing just where it sent tingles through his poor, tormented Harry-kins.
Didn’t even wait until pudding, he thought morosely.
He dealt her a glare. She merely smiled up at him and continued to eat her dinner as if nothing was amiss. Remus certainly didn’t think anything was wrong.
Harry stifled a sigh. Punishment indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione giggled as Harry knocked over a tall stack of books and swept them off the hip-high shelf, sending the books splattering to the floor.
“Oh, dear!” she whispered as he swept her up and plopped her on the cleared space.
He kissed her then, parting her legs so he could stand between them. Running his hands up her thighs as he pushed her flouncy white skirt up, his fingers groped for knickers. He was delighted to discover that she didn’t have any.
“Why, Ms. Granger,” he said in a softly playful tone. “How very considerate of you to do away with the formalities!”
She smiled as she bit her lip. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Potter. We’re all friends here.” She began to work on his trousers, undoing the buttons with expert ease. Soon enough she had her hands inside his boxers, stroking him with one hand and massaging the rest of him with the other.
He let her work, his eyes rolling back in his head with a groan.
“Like that?” she asked with a satisfied smirk.
He looked at her, seeing that gleam in her eyes that bespoke mischief. She seemed to find a sick pleasure in tormenting him until he would come undone before she did. Since that first night, he hadn’t failed her yet, and while he didn’t think she wanted him to fail, he could only assumed that she liked seeing him work for his rewards. Like really work.
Maybe she IS punishing me. For all those years I never noticed how utterly exquisite she is.
So when she asked if he liked this, there was simply no other way to say it.
“Excessively,” he said.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands out of his underpants, putting them over his shoulders to keep them as far away from mischief as possible; at least for the moment. Then he let his fingers work, sliding into her in the rhythm she loved.
She was instantly more compliant.
Moaning appreciatively, she pulled him down for a kiss, biting lightly on his lips.
“Harry,” she breathed. “You do realize that tomorrow—“
“We’ll worry about that when Ron gets here, yes?” he said softly, slipping off his trousers and boxers.
He kissed her while he entered her, their combined moans muffled by the press of their lips and tongue. He held her thighs tight while he stroked himself in her, setting a rhythm that would prolong their joining.
She squirmed, pushing for a faster pace.
“No, you don’t,” he whispered in her ear as he bit the lobe of it. “You don’t get me worked-up at the dinner table and expect that I won’t draw this out for as long as I want.”
She pouted as she moaned in frustration. “Harry… I was only teasing…”
He chuckled. “Yes, you were, and now I’m making you pay for it.”
A hiss escaped her lips, but she made no further complaint. He wasn’t the only one who liked getting punished.
He did as he promised, dragging it along for as long as he could take it. Finally, she begged him to put her out of her misery. The begging always broke him. He gave in to her, picking up the pace. She was very appreciative of his mercies and she let him know it.
So from that point on, holding back was a tad more difficult.
It was practically a miracle that he managed to hold off long enough to feel her come, and he let the clenching of her inner muscles take him with her. It was a spectacularly orgasmic tumble.
When coherent thought returned to him, he realized they were panting heavily, they were sweaty and they both seemed quite exhausted.
He pushed the damp hair from off her forehead as he looked down on her upturned face. “I wish you can sleep with me tonight.”
“D’you think it would shock Ron so much if he found us in bed together?”
He smiled wanly. “You tell me.”
She said nothing, probably analyzing what he meant by it, exactly. He was thinking about Ron’s letters when he said it, and this was the first time he would bring it up. He had been wondering what her correspondence with Ron consisted of, and maybe he was still insecure.
“He hasn’t brought ‘us’ up directly,” she replied.
“Us?”
“Him and I,” she replied softly.
He steeled his features. “There’s that now, is there?”
She frowned a bit. “Don’t be daft, Harry. I’m sitting here and you’re still inside me. How can you ask me that?”
In retrospect, how indeed can he feel so insecure at that particular moment? He reddened, caressing her cheeks apologetically before stepping back to pull his trousers back on. “Sorry… so he hasn’t brought your relationship up directly?” With his trousers in place, he held out his hand and she took it.
He led them to the couch, settling her down so he had her legs across his lap while she leaned against the armrest.
She nodded at his question. “He said that he’s really looking forward to seeing me at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and that I—“ She blushed, pointing at him warningly. “Don’t laugh.”
“Well, is it funny?”
“He said that he can’t wait to see how beautiful I’ll look.”
“Him and me, both.” He caressed her calf, squeezing gently.
Her cheeks glowed pink in the candlelight and she smiled shyly. “Well, anyway, I always pretend I’m not getting the hint when he gets that way. I can’t exactly turn him down because he’s not saying anything that needs turning down. I just say that I’m looking forward to being there with the both of you, and really daft things like that. I’ve tried to bring it up myself, but knowing I’d be letting him down… sometimes I feel there’s no saying it on paper. It just seems cowardly to do that, or maybe I’m really just being more of a coward by putting it off altogether.”
“Well,” he muttered. “Ginny certainly hasn’t reacted to… you and I.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “You—You told her? You told Ginny about what we’re—you know!”
Harry was beginning to think she wanted to keep their affair a secret forever. “Not that, but I made it quite clear that I’ve been spending a lot of time with you. She stopped writing last week. Probably means she figured out something was… up.” He had an urge to giggle at that last word, but the look on her face chased any giddy thoughts away.
She stared at him as if he’d grown horns and a third eye.
He frowned. “What?”
“You realize that it if you want to go back to Ginny…”
Merlin, is she still on about that?
“Hermione, I don’t want to go back to Ginny.”
She was quiet for a while before she shifted and curled against him, leaning her head on his shoulder. She gave as sigh, as if completely content to be where she was and he put his arm around her, closing his eyes as he kissed her forehead tenderly.
They talked a bit more after a comfortable silence, murmuring about silly, nonsensical things like Felix Felicis potions and Slughorn and even Cormac McLaggen. Slowly, they slipped into easy sleep, exhausted from their earlier efforts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry felt someone nudging him in his sleep. He opened his eyes and half expected to see Hermione peering down at him. He was about to reach out and pull her into bed when he realized that it wasn’t Hermione but Ron staring at him from above, looking very upset.
Harry groaned. Whatever melodrama Ron had, and whatever time it was, it was too early. He shifted, determined to ignore Ron, but his movement was hampered, for a couple of reasons. One, his bed was too small and two, someone was lying on top of him; someone very soft.
His eyes widened and his first thought was, Good Lord! Ron found us in bed!
His second thought was that he needed to cover Hermione with a blanket.
But there was no blanket. In fact, there was no bed, and Hermione was perfectly decent in her flouncy white skirt and linen beige sleeveless top, even if she did forego the knickers.
There was the problem that his hands were around her, and that she was perfectly content half draped on him while she lay tucked between him and the back of the couch, but the real issue was that Ron had come upon them that way, and that likely, it looked quite bad.
Harry could either panic and jump off the couch, treating Hermione to a very rude awakening, or he could play this out as calmly as he could, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with this picture.
He couldn’t very well say that it wasn’t what Ron thought, as it was exactly what Ron thought, and that denying it would be tantamount to lying, which Harry didn’t want to do.
So summoning his nerve, Harry signaled Ron for quiet as he carefully extricated himself from Hermione’s embrace.
It was going really well until Hermione gave a soft complaint and murmured his name quite audibly.
Shite. This is going to be a hard sell.
He turned and led Ron out of the library.
When they were out in the hallway, Harry tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Late night, studying. Been doing it all week, too. I think it finally caught up on her.”
That wasn’t exactly a lie. Hermione had been studying when Harry came barging into the library to study her. And of course, she was quite tired after all that.
Ron eyed him suspiciously. “You were studying too?”
Harry shrugged. “Keeping her company and bothering her, mostly.” Boy, did I BOTHER her. “Where’s Mr. Weasley at?” Harry asked to keep the conversation going.
“Downstairs with Remus.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs then. I need to go to the loo.”
Ron nodded, eyeing him still as he headed for the stairs. Harry made for the bathroom just to appease some of Ron’s suspicions.
He washed his face, brushed his teeth and tried straightening his clothes. When he was more presentable, he made straight for the library. Somehow, letting Hermione go down knickerless didn’t sit well with him.
He gently nudged her awake. She stirred, blinking languorously and smiling as she reached out to run her fingers through his hair.
It killed him to break the news when she looked so content, but he had to. “Ron’s here.”
She froze and her smile disappeared. Her hand dropped and she sighed, stretching lazily on the couch. A swath of skin peeped between her skirt and blouse and he had a strong urge to touch it. He always liked seeing her in the morning, all drowsy and relaxed and filled with a million possibilities. It was such a turn-on, but he didn’t think it very prudent to start anything at this time, as Ron was downstairs with scenarios already running through his head because of what he’d seen earlier.
“He saw us,” said Harry. “On the couch.”
She stopped stretching, mid-arch, then she slumped back down. “I suppose we were going to have to deal with this sooner or later.”
He nodded. He wished he could be as cavalier about it.
“Go on ahead. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
He rubbed her tummy for a bit, giving in to his earlier impulse and rose to go to the kitchen.
Ron was stuffing pancakes in his mouth on one end of the table. His unbelievably long legs stuck out from beneath. He was at least an inch taller than Arthur now, and he showed no signs of stopping anytime soon if the amount of food on his plate was any indication.
Arthur greeted Harry with the same warmth and enthusiasm Harry had come to expect from him.
“We would have gotten here sooner you know, if we hadn’t been pressed to finish a few Order matters.”
Harry was surprised by this. Ron hadn’t mentioned anything like that at all. He looked at his best friend. “You’ve been doing Order tasks?”
Ron nodded. “Oh, dad’s quiet about the details, so I don’t really know anything, but I did a bit of body-guarding for him with Fred and George. I reckon what dad’s been doing is way too important for him to be left by himself.”
Arthur blushed. “Well, of course it was important, but I think the intelligence I delivered is far more important than I am. It had to be done, you understand, even if we’re without a leader at the moment.”
Harry had been wondering about that particular bit. He looked to Remus. “How does the Order choose a leader?”
Remus seemed amused. “We don’t know, really. Albus set up the group and led it ever since. We’ve never had to get a new one.”
He found that to be very unsettling. “Well, I’ve never heard of a proper group without a leader. Shouldn’t choosing a leader be the Order’s first priority now?”
Arthur nodded. “It is, but there’s a—“ he paused, clearing his throat while looking quite displeased “—matter that members can’t seem to come to agree on, for some silly reason or another.”
“What matter?”
Arthur and Remus exchanged looks. Harry turned a questioning eyebrow at Ron who merely shrugged.
Remus looked to the stairs. “Is Hermione waking up anytime soon? I’d rather she be here for this.”
Harry’s face registered surprise.
Ron began to stand up, his breakfast yet unfinished. “I’ll go get her.”
“I met her on the hall coming down here,” said Harry. “She’ll be down in a while. What’s this about, Remus?”
Ron sat back down, shooting him another suspicious look. Harry ignored it.
“In a while, Harry,” said Remus. “We’ll wait for Hermione.”
Harry tried not to be so worried as they waited. He helped himself to some breakfast and Arthur cheerfully made conversation.
Fifteen minutes later, Hermione emerged, showered by the likes of her. She was back in jeans and a well-fitting sports shirt, like a football jersey. Her curly hair of brown shiny ringlets fell unhampered, halfway down her back now. Last time Ron saw her, she had her shorter hair tied up, either in a tight ponytail or a bun. Now it was loose, and it gave Hermione a whole new different look, like she was unfettered. Harry found it very appealing. Ron did too, it seemed, if the look he gave her was any indication.
Harry took consolation in the fact that she didn’t even notice Ron looking.
“Hullo, Ron. Hullo, Mr. Weasley.” She gave Ron a pat on his shoulder as she passed him and she gave Arthur a daughterly kiss on the cheek.
Harry saw Ron’s gaze following her. He frowned.
“Hullo, dear,” Arthur said. “How are you parents?”
She went for the coffee pot. “Perfectly fine. I think they saw Tonks the other day. Daddy said there was a strange, green haired woman that kept loitering outside their clinic.”
Remus looked a bit alarmed.
Arthur, however, smirked. “Sounds like her.”
Hermione looked at him squarely as she held up her mug. “Is the Order guarding them, then? I didn’t realize they were in danger.”
Arthur winced, looking like he had let something slip.
Remus certainly shot Arthur a slanted glare, as if to scold Arthur for it.
Arthur hastened to explain. “Well, it’s just a precaution, really. Nothing to worry about.”
She leaned against the sink, sipping from her mug. They could all feel her displeasure, however controlled her face was.
“You know,” she began. “You can’t keep doing that. You can’t always keep us in the dark. Not anymore. We’re all adults now.”
Harry stared at her in mild shock. She wasn’t being disrespectful, but she was talking awfully grown up to Arthur.
He looked at Ron who seemed even more shocked that he was.
After a moment, Arthur sighed and exchanged looks with Remus.
Remus nodded.
“Hermione,” said Arthur. “Please sit down. You can have breakfast while we talk about all this. You’re right, of course. You’re not children anymore.”
Satisfied that she got her point across, she sat, taking the seat beside Harry. She smiled up at him, a hint of triumph in her gaze. He couldn’t help but smile back. She was amazing.
When he looked back on the table, Ron was staring at him, scowling. Harry decided to completely ignore him for the moment.
“So,” she said, taking some toasted bread. “Why does the Order think my parents are in danger? They have nothing to do with any of this.”
“But they do,” said Remus. “They’re your parents, Hermione, and like it or not, you’ve gained the attention of Voldemort’s followers.”
She seemed surprised. “I’ve gained their attention? Where do I fit into the grand scheme of things? I’m just a pesky mudblood according to them.”
Everyone winced at the word.
Arthur blinked a few times before replying. “Whether they really believe that or not is immaterial. The fact of the matter is you’ve been identified as a willing participant in the fight against the Dark Lord and his minions. You’re a known supporter of Harry Potter and you’ve shown your worth on the matter of keeping him alive.”
Harry was beginning to feel terribly uncomfortable and her frown was deepening.
“But I wasn’t the only one in the Department of Mysteries,” she said. “And really, it’s the only time I can figure that they’ve marked me at all. Ron and Ginny are marked because those skull-faced degenerates think all Weasleys blood-traitors—no offense—“
“None taken,” said Arthur, looking rather proud, in fact.
“But the rest of us are just—well, we’re really just flunkies of a sort; Luna, Neville and I.”
Harry scowled. “You’re not a flunkie, Hermione.”
“I am,” she said. “I’m just a geek who knows how to use a wand. Everybody knows it.”
Harry bristled but she smirked, dispelling his annoyance, somewhat. He caught Ron staring at them and Harry felt like bristling anew. What was up with Ron and his looks?
“No matter what you think, Hermione,” said Arthur, “Harry is right. And we’ve some intelligence to prove that you’re quite marked, particularly because you’re muggle-born and you survived a Death Eater curse. By their twisted philosophies, you shouldn’t have survived Dolohov’s hex. They’ve taken your survival as a personal insult, of sorts.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “There’s intelligence?”
Arthur nodded. “Justin Finch-Fletchley called in a report last week, said his house was being stalked by Death Eaters. Apparently, he had relied on a cheap sneakoscope to come to the conclusion, but it proved sufficient enough. He was right. We think the Finch-Fletchleys would have fallen victim to a vicious attack if Justin hadn’t come and reported the stalkers. The Finch-Fletchleys have taken shelter somewhere else, but we’re keeping an eye on Justin’s house. So it seemed prudent to suppose that if the Death Eaters are interested in the Finch-Fletchleys…”
Harry groaned. “They’d be even more interested in the Grangers.” He felt fear pooling in the pit of his stomach. It was happening again. Someone he loved was in mortal danger.
Ron’s brows knotted. “What does Justin have to do with Hermione and her family?”
“Justin is muggle-born,” she said. “Both parents muggles. Just like me.”
Arthur remained grave. “You understand, of course, that the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters have no love whatsoever for muggles and muggle-borns. Justin fits their twisted profile for execution, but you… you’re a symbol, Hermione. You’re an ace student in Hogwarts, you’re Harry Potter’s friend… reported as his girlfriend once upon a time and you were in the Department of Mysteries—err—raid. They kill you and your parents, they get their point across in ways the Finch-Fletchleys’ demise couldn’t.”
She was finally quiet, and Harry wondered if she had been better off not knowing.
“So now they’re being guarded,” she said softly.
Remus nodded. “Round the clock, whether they’re at home or in their clinic.”
“And they don’t know about this?”
“They do, actually.”
Silence fell upon them and Harry could practically feel Hermione’s anger radiating off her.
“Well then, why didn’t they tell me about it?” she demanded.
Arthur smiled apologetically. “I think they just didn’t want you to worry, Hermione.”
“Worry! I can’t—then why did daddy tell me about Tonks, then?”
“He doesn’t know who Tonks is, dear. He was just probably telling you about a strange, green-haired woman. Our mistake.”
Hermione’s grip on her mug tightened. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe they kept this from me. They usually tell me everything, and now they’re treating me like a child, too. The Order seems to be catching on that respect.”
Arthur looked crestfallen and Remus seemed mildly embarrassed.
Harry shot her a look of reproach and she sighed.
“I’m sorry,” said Hermione. “I didn’t mean that. You treated me like an adult just now and for that I’m grateful. I’m just mad my parents are keeping secrets from me.”
Remus gave her a conciliatory smile and Arthur grinned.
“Don’t be too hard on your parents, poppet,” Arthur said. “They always have your best interests at heart. You’ll know what I mean when you have little twins running around and getting in trouble at Hogwarts.” He glanced furtively at Ron as he said it and Ron’s eyes widened in horror.
Harry didn’t know he could ever feel resentment for Arthur, but that last comment about twins, coupled with the telling stare was practically a motive for murder, or at least a very uncomfortable slug-puking hex.
Splendid. Of course the father would root for the son, he thought bitterly.
Hermione blinked several times before forcing a tiny smile. The smile missed her eyes, but Arthur didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.
“Now to the next order of business,” said Arthur jovially. “The matter of leadership in the Order of the Phoenix. Since we lost Albus, the workings of the Order have been left in the hands of a governing body of sorts. Instead of appointing one leader, we’ve resorted to having deciding body. Senior members are represented by myself and Remus, the school is represented by Minerva and the Aurors are represented by Kingsley Shacklebolt. This circle of leadership has worked so far, but…”
Harry’s eyebrow arched, waiting for Arthur to continue. Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy for him to say.
“There’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just say it. Remus and I believe that you should be part of this board, Harry.”
Hermione and Ron’s jaw dropped, synchronized like.
It didn’t sink in on Harry quite as quickly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley, I thought I heard you say… WHAT?”
Arthur looked to Remus, as if in silent plea.
Remus leaned over the table. “You know that you have shown an uncanny ability to inspire a group of students to fight competently against the most senior of Death Eaters.”
“Uncanny ability?” cried Harry. “I almost got all of them killed! And it was because I stupidly believed Sirius was being held captive!”
“I was talking about last June Harry, at Hogwarts, when it fell under attack and students bravely rose to fight back,” said Remus. “And I understand that you led a group called Dumbledore’s Army in your fifth year, teaching your classmates Defense Against the Dark Arts. It’s the reason they had the confidence to fight back, after all, and let’s not forget Justin Finch-Fletchley. I doubt he learned ‘constant vigilance!’ all by himself. If not for Justin, Hermione’s parents might be dead right now.”
Harry paused a moment at that, but he shook his head. “First of all, the D.A. wasn’t my idea, it was Hermione’s, and second of all, I may be legally an adult, but even I can admit that I’m not old enough to be given this kind of responsibility.”
Remus sighed. “It’s not just that, you know. And I’d be lying if I told you this wasn’t the most important thing: In the last seventeen years, you’re the only one, aside from Albus, who has come in contact with Voldemort, fought him, and lived. You have an incredibly valuable perspective of his motives, Harry, and apart from that, you spent a lot of time with Albus during his last days. Knowing him, he shared with you a lot of vital information, whether you know it or not.”
Harry sighed. It always boiled down to being the Boy Who Lived, apparently. It was something he would have to accept sooner or later, but it didn’t make things any easier. “Look, I can sit in these… I dunno, meetings and give my input, but to decide on anything—“
“If your vote isn’t given any importance, then your input might be worthless. You’ll need leverage to start with. Giving you a vote is as much as we can do to help you along with that, but given time, you’ll earn the trust of your elders. Besides, if you just stand there without a vote and be Harry Bloody Potter, it wouldn’t be much different from Scrimgeor asking you to play Poster Boy for the Ministry.”
This was all too surreal for him. “Even if I took a fancy to being on this governing body, I can’t do it. I have too many things to work on. It’s the reason I’m not going back to Hogwarts at any rate. We have things to search for; things to find. We can’t do that if I’m on-call for meetings.”
Remus and Arthur looked perplexed at this.
Arthur gestured to speak. “Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Ron told me you weren’t going back to Hogwarts, and that he and Hermione aren’t going if you’re not… what is more important that school, son?”
“I told you, we have to search for things.”
“What things?”
Harry exchanged looks with Hermione. She nodded.
“Horcruxes,” said Harry.
Remus’s eyes widened. “Horcru—“
“Voldemort’s Horcruxes,” Hermione said.
Remus now began to look ill and Arthur looked seriously perplexed.
“What is this Hoc-rucks?” Arthur asked.
“Horcrux, dad. And it’s very bad magic,” Ron replied in the same dark tone he used for words like “scarlet woman” or “He Who Must Not Be Named.”
“I have heard that it is very dark magic,” said Remus. “But I don’t know the details. There are no written references to it.”
Hermione looked to Harry and he realized she wanted him to explain. He was hoping she would take over for that, but he supposed she figured he would be the best authority in this matter. She had always been a stickler for accuracy and referring to the proper sources. At this point, he was the best reference they had.
He stifled a sigh, but he explained. “It involves the killing of another human being to create a rift in the soul, so that the torn pieces can be stored in an object, or a vessel.”
Arthur was properly shocked. “B-But why would anyone do such a thing?”
“It anchors the soul on Earth,” concluded Remus in awe. “So that if your corporeal self is killed, your horcrux prevents you from moving on to the beyond. You live, even if you’re only living on a fragment of your soul.”
Harry wasn’t surprised Remus caught on so quickly. The man was the brains in the Marauders after all.
Arthur looked utterly revolted. “That’s—that’s monstrous!”
Remus turned to Hermione. “And you say Voldemort made a horcrux? But of course! That seems to make sense; that he’s so difficult to kill and that he’s been rising from the dead.”
She nodded. “Harry has reason to believe Voldemort made seven horcruxes.”
“Good Lord,” Remus gasped. “Seven? Harry, where did you—“
“Dumbledore,” he replied. “Last year, all I did with him was look into Tom Riddle’s past. From what we learned of the stored memories about him, Dumbledore and I formed theories about the horcruxes. That there are seven is speculation, but it’s entirely possible based on the known facts. I think we’ve destroyed two. Dumbledore took care of Marvolo Gaunt’s ring and I destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary. Voldemort’s a piece in himself, so we’re looking at four more objects. We... Dumbledore and I believe that one object is Helga Hufflepuff’s cup. The other is Salazar Slytherin’s locket. I’m thinking the other two should be something from Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor.”
Remus scowled. “Voldemort always was a self-important bugger.”
Ron sputtered on his pumpkin juice and Harry was pleasantly surprised by Remus’s candid take on it. Hermione, however, seemed completely unbothered.
“At any rate,” she said loftily. “I think we’ve seen Slytherin’s locket. We just have to find it again.”
Harry whipped his gaze to her. “WHAT?”
Ron’s voice rang with him. He had completely given up on the pumpkin juice.
She reddened. “Well I—I’ve been doing research these last two weeks, see, just to make sure. I didn’t want to go traipsing around chasing theories… the locket. I think it was here, Harry. In this house. I had to go back on the Black family tree and all that, just to make sure that R.A.B. is Regulus Black—“
“Regulus!” gasped Harry. “But what—“
“You remember that summer we first came here, Harry? This place was a mess. We were cleaning, and we threw out some things…”
Harry’s eyes glazed over, remembering the time; remembering the moment when they had cleared out the bric-a-brac from those glass-fronted cabinets. There were rings with the Black family crest, snuffboxes, tweezers, silver-framed family photos and they also stumbled on a particularly interesting locket, one they couldn’t open…
“Bloody hell,” Ron said.
Harry stared at her in disbelief. “You’re right,” he whispered. “You’re brilliant… amazing!”
She blushed. “Well, it’s still just a theory, and I—well, I haven’t found the locket yet. I borrowed your Finder, Harry. I hope you don’t mind…”
He smiled at her adoringly. “Of course I don’t.” He paused for a heartbeat, realizing that she had referred to the locket being in the house in the past tense. “It’s not here, is it?”
“No, but it couldn’t have walked out by itself, so I’m guessing we can ask Mundungus if he happened to nick a silver locket during one of his raids. I think he’d remember how he got rid of a locket that couldn’t be opened. Knowing Old Dung, he wouldn’t simply toss something made of silver in the trash. He’ll do something with it to make money off it, and since it probably couldn’t be destroyed, being a horcrux and all, he couldn’t have had it melted. Either he still has the locket or he conned someone into giving him money for it. He’d be able to give us a solid lead of its whereabouts.”
Mundungus, thought Harry. Now he was in complete awe of her. It was difficult to maintain his composure in the face of such brilliance, and so he let himself admire her.
“But Dung’s—“ Ron began, wide-eyed. “Dung’s in Azkaban!”
That snapped Harry out of his reverie and as Ron’s words sunk in, he knew exactly what Hermione was going to say.
Hermione raised her chin. “Then we go to Azakaban.”
I knew she’d say that.
“What!” cried Ron in a rather shrill tone.
Harry met Remus and Arthur’s glances. They seemed resigned to the fact that Ms. Hermione Granger had made up her mind. There was no point in arguing about it at this time, in any case. They’d have to butt heads with her later.
“This is all—“ Arthur said, breaking the argument before it could progress further “—very disturbing, and frankly, aI agree with you; that finding these horcruxes is paramount, but it doesn’t change the fact that the Order needs Harry.”
Harry began to protest, but Arthur cut him off.
“The Order can pool its resources to discover the remaining horcruxes. I think a whole complement of experienced wizards and half a dozen Unspeakables doing the research is about equivalent to one Hermione Granger, don’t you think? So now we’ll have an equivalent of two Hermiones looking for answers.”
Hermione reddened at the compliment.
“There can’t ever be a substitute for her,” said Harry before he could think better of it.
She smiled prettily, her eyes shining with something that made him feel warm all over. “That’s sweet of you, Harry.”
“Right,” said Ron, his face suddenly gone of all emotion. He leaned back on his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It’s about time the Order listened to what you had to say, Harry,” said Arthur. “If you’re afraid of making the wrong decisions, welcome to the club. We all make decisions based on what we know and what we think we know, and we pray to Merlin those decisions are the right ones. Remus and I have complete faith in you; that you’d be guided. We’re not even forcing you, anyway. Call it a worthy suggestion, if you will.”
Harry tried not to scoff. Arthur was serious, and really, it was an honor to be so trusted by two of the most trustworthy men he knew, but he found it a bit too frightening at the moment. He’d give it some thought, but he wasn’t going to promise anything.
“I take it Shacklebolt and McGonagall don’t think much of me, then,” he said.
“Oh, Minerva’s quite understanding of the matter,” said Remus. “Shacklebolt’s just being himself, but the real protests are coming from some of the Order members, for one reason or another. Bickering wastes time, you know, so I’m hoping we can get past that and have you on the board as soon as you say you’d do it.”
“And what does this have to do with Hermione?” He hadn’t forgotten that they’d wanted her there for this particular discussion.
“Hermione and Ron, actually. They’re your best friends. They know you best. Talk it out with them, and then you can work from there. I firmly believe that if you’re going to go into this, you’ll have these two to back you up all the time. They’re your board, so their opinion is equally important.”
Harry was surprised at the depth of Remus’s understanding of his friendship with Ron and Hermione, until he realized that Remus had known this kind of friendship before with James and Sirius.
Hermione looked quite abashed. “R-Remus, I don’t know what to say…”
“I do,” Ron muttered. “You’re all bloody mad.”
“Now, son,” said Arthur, shooting him a warning glare.
Ron said nothing more after that.
Remus smiled, expelling a breath. “Well, that’s all for today, class. Now that the weight of the world is on your shoulders, I’d like you to make a three foot report on How Not to Lose Your Marbles In Times of Great Pressure.”
Harry smiled in spite of himself. Hermione paled and Ron laughed bitterly.
She got up, muttering something about homework and how it was no laughing matter. She started to magically gather the dirty dishes in the sink for washing. Ron didn’t protest when she took his half-filled plate. It seemed that something had finally staunched Ron’s appetite.
“Need help there, Hermione?” asked Ron.
“No, Ron, I’m washing Muggle-way now. I need to think.”
“What?”
“That’s what she does,” Harry explained. “When she needs to think she cleans.”
Ron shot him a menacing glare before he rose and went for the stairs. He was gone quickly enough, climbing the steps four at a time. Harry tried not to let that murderous look bother him.
“Well, Remus,” said Arthur. “I’ll have to go back to the Ministry for the meantime. I’ll leave Ron in your capable hands. I’d expect you and the kids to be at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, yes?”
Remus smiled and nodded. They shook hands and Arthur turned to give Harry a similar goodbye. Hermione gave him another one of her daughterly kisses before he finally went and apparated out of the house.
“I’ll be in my study if anyone needs me,” Remus said. “Lord knows I’ve put off my paperwork long enough. You children behave.”
There was a brief twinkle in his eyes that Harry prayed wasn’t what he thought it was. Remus left.
Harry wasted little time as he slid up behind Hermione while she was wrist deep in sink water and soap.
He ran his hands along the waist of her jeans, kissing her neck. She sighed happily, letting him, though she didn’t stop working.
“You are positively brilliant,” he said in her ear.
She shuddered delightfully. “I try.”
“You’re a smashing success.”
She grinned, turning her head to catch a kiss from his lips. They relished the contact for several moments and his hands began to trail up her stomach. He let his thumb graze her breast and she pulled away, giggling. She went back to work on her dishes.
Well, when she puts her mind to something…
“Ron’s going to be difficult, isn’t he?” she asked in a quiet tone.
He hadn’t expected that question, but it made him smile a bit. He knew she wasn’t talking about her “relationship” with Ron. She was talking about what she and Harry had, however… unlabeled it was, as of yet. It meant she was at least willing to tell Ron that—well—they had something. To Harry, it was a good thing even if he wasn’t looking forward to any of Ron’s possible reactions. He closed his eyes and buried his nose in her abundant hair. He smelled her shampoo and it was wonderful. “Yes. I reckon so.”
“How are we going to do this, then?”
“I’ll talk to him. Alone. It’s better that way.”
She sighed, but it was with relief. “Alright. But Harry, you know that if you tell him, it means that… you know… there’s no easy way to turn back.”
He frowned. “Why would I want to turn back?”
Her hands paused a bit before resuming its work. She smiled plaintively and she gave a tiny shrug. “I don’t know. For whatever reason you may have. I’m well aware that this all started with me—practically jumping you. And then everything we’ve done… maybe it was unfair, because I—I know that I’ve… encouraged this… this. But I honestly had the best of intentions, especially that night on Privet Drive. I care for you, Harry, so I’d do these things for you. I wasn’t hoping to trap you or anything…”
“Too late. I’m trapped.”
She craned her neck to look at him and he was astonished by the apology in her gaze. “You’re not, really. You can always back out—“
“I don’t want to back out. I love you.” He finally said it, and she looked utterly surprised. He could tell she hadn’t expected it at all, and that was a bit disconcerting. He didn’t think it was so far-fetched for him to fall for her. He had, in the last twenty four hours, realized that it was really the only thing that made sense in his life right now. For her to look as if it was practically supernatural was unnerving. Maybe she didn’t love him.
He began to worry.
“R-Really?” she asked.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I just—I never thought you’d—I love you, too, you know.”
He smiled. It was wonderful to hear her say it.
Maybe he should be jumping around; celebrating, or something. He certainly felt like it, but this closeness was so much more fulfilling. He pressed his lips to her neck, closing his eyes again to relish the feel of her. “Truly?”
“Yes, truly.”
“Brilliant. That settles that, then. You’re not going to have little twins with Ron.”
She giggled and pressed her back against him in a sensual motion. Up went the trapped little bugger in his pants.
“Hullo,” he said, delighted. “And just where do you plan on finishing what you started, witch?”
She smiled, pressing a bit more. “Oh, you know… I always think of something.”
“And you know I love it when you think.” He kissed her, his hands creeping beneath the front of her jeans. He felt the line of her knickers against his fingertips.
There was a sound behind them, and it startled them both. They looked, and there was a flash of trainers disappearing up the steps.
“Shite,” he breathed.
“Oh, dear,” she whispered, beginning to wash her hands, as if she was going to put off the cleaning so she could fix this emergency first.
He pressed his hands to her shoulders. “No. Stay here. I’ll go. Might as well get this over with.”
“But—“
“I’ll take care of it, alright?” He placed a comforting kiss to her neck before he left to follow Ron up the stairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry gingerly opened the door to Ron’s room and saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, his back to the door.
Ron whirled to look at Harry over his shoulder, his eyes blazing. “You know, you’re something else!” he growled. “You just had to take her away from me, didn’t you? You can’t bloody stand to let me have her, at least. You just have to take everything all the fucking time!”
Harry felt a wave of magic pulse, as if to push him away, and the intensity of Ron’s feelings made him cringe. Ron’s anger was catching. Harry didn’t appreciate Ron talking about Hermione as if she was something, like she was a prefect badge or a Firebolt. And she shouldn’t have to be anyone’s “at least” either. She was the best thing to happened to Harry since he found out he belonged somewhere, and he wasn’t very well going to give her up to someone who considered her an “at least.” But he figured he couldn’t let the anger take him. Not as long as he could help it.
There were a million hurtful things he could have said: She was never yours… You botched it when you went off with Lavender and kept snogging her in Hermione’s face… She CHOSE me… She kissed me first… She was the one who came to my doorstep looking utterly desirable… She said she’d always fancied me more, you git… You bloody lost your fucking chance.
But he said none of those things, and all he could do was say the one thing that mattered.
“We’re in love.” He didn’t even have to yell it. It was just the truth.
Ron stood and turned to face him, the shock evident on his face. He clearly hadn’t expected that, then the stubborn set on his jaw returned, his eyes reclaiming its fury. “Well I saw her first!”
Harry’s jaw dropped before he scowled. “You did not. We saw her together! You called her a nightmare—“
“I’m talking about the Yule Ball!” cried Ron. “I noticed her. I knew I fancied her then. You didn’t know shit!”
Harry felt his shoulders go tense before he let out a reluctant chuckle. “Well, I was a blithering idiot…”
“I could’ve told you that,” Ron hissed.
Harry’s grin wavered into a glare, realizing that Ron wasn’t going to budge on the matter. “You weren’t exactly the most brilliant wizard alive when you started snogging Lavender out of spite, you know. You had an entire year to work it out with Hermione and what did you do? You blew you chance. And she had to suffer that bloody git McLaggen for your petty mind games—“
“And what about you? Don’t tell me you held back because you thought I fancied Hermione. If you tell me that, so help me, I’ll kill you, because that means you used my sister—“
“I didn’t use Ginny! I really did fancy her, but that’s beside the point! Hermione and I got together in the last few weeks and—“
“Fuck… me! You mean all this time I’ve been writing to her, she’s been snogging you?”
Harry bit back the hurtful retort that rose in his lips and thought better of it, but for all of Ron’s shortcomings when it came to picking up subtle hints, he chose this time to be incredibly perceptive, and he had apparently understood what Harry had deferred from telling him.
Ron’s eyes grew wide with outrage. “You’ve been shagging haven’t you?” he hissed.
Harry glared, pointing a warning finger at him. “Stop right there, Ron. Don’t say anything else you’ll regret.”
Ron’s shock mingled with his anger. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Look, it’s not all about that. We care for one another—“
“You son of a BITCH!”
Ron launched at him, throwing a punch that knocked him to the side.
Harry had had enough of being sensitive to Ron’s feelings. He gave back as good as he got and soon, they were tumbling and yelling on the floor, cursing each other’s lineage and calling each other the worse names. There were blows everywhere, but it was as if neither of them could feel a thing.
Harry vaguely heard someone screaming from the door. “Stop!” or something like that. It wasn’t exactly registering. All he knew was that Ron, the giant, was attacking him, but he wasn’t about to roll over and be overpowered.
Ron was just about to give him another good one in the face when another voice cut through the rage.
“Dissendium!”
They flew apart, sending Ron crashing to the bedside table on one end of the room while Harry got knocked breathless against the dresser.
He saw stars for a moment then he felt a soft touch, accompanied by a string of words filled with distress. Hermione’s voice, though frantic, was a balm to his strained nerves. He listened to that voice amidst the blur and let its sweet tones calm him.
“Are you alright, Harry? Oh, Merlin, what did he do to your face? Your glasses… oh God! What in heaven’s name… ohh, my boys!”
“Easy there, Ron,” came another voice; a man’s voice from the other side of the room.
“Occulus reparo,” Harry heard her whisper.
He felt her gingerly put his glasses back on, and while he saw things more clearly, he realized that his right eye wasn’t being very cooperative. It was probably swollen half-shut.
She was helping him up, and the look on her face was of pure worry. No anger. No reproach. She was holding him, but she was glancing over her shoulder at Ron who looked as bad as Harry felt. Remus was helping him to his feet.
Hermione’s brows knotted with concern. “Ron—“
“Shut it, you!” Ron hissed.
Harry felt the anger rise in his chest again. “Don’t you talk to her like that!”
“I damn well—“
“Enough!” said Remus sternly. “That’s enough! Or I’ll stupefy you both and let you sleep this off!”
They fell silent and began to realize the error of their ways. Harry felt heat rising up his face, not because he was sorry he had socked Ron a few good ones (those were immensely satisfying), but because they must have looked like a couple of ten year olds rolling in the playground, and they had wanted to be treated like adults not more than a half hour ago!
Hermione sighed. “I don’t know what happened but—“
“You happened,” Harry said, looking at her. “You happened to us both.”
She stared at him, her cheeks reddening before she looked away. There was a brief silence.
Remus coughed. “Come with me, Ron. I’ll take care of those bumps for you down stairs. Fancy some butterbeer? I believe we have some straws. I’m thinking that mouth of yours is going to be more swollen in a minute or so… Hermione, why don’t you take care of Harry? You can come down and join us when he’s in better shape, alright?”
Hermione nodded.
Remus led Ron out of the room without further incident.
Face drawn with worry, she pulled Harry gingerly to the bed and sat him down on the edge of it. She told him she would be back in a second. Harry didn’t think he was in any mood to go anywhere.
She came back with a first-aid kit and she began to apply potions to the cuts and bruises. The worst one on his face was his eye and a bit of a split lip. His cheek felt like it would bruise but she muttered a healing charm and it felt instantly better.
Her hands pressed gently on his sides and he hissed at the tenderness in his ribs.
Damn, Ron can throw a bully punch…
She frowned in disapproval and helped him out of his shirt. He didn’t even have the slightest pep left to joke about her getting him undressed.
She applied more of the potions to his bruises and she cast more healing charms. When she had dealt with the worse of his injuries, she took a healing stone from the kit, activated it and tied it around his wrist.
She blinked as she did it, as if she were holding back tears. When she tied the last knot on the charm, she kissed his palm affectionately.
“There! All done!” There was a tremble in her voice, and she was still blinking. She tried to smile but it only made her tears fall.
His insides went weak instantly. He could never stand to see a woman cry, and Hermione’s tears just took every ounce of fight from him.
“Hermione…” He crooned softly as he cupped her face, wiping the tears with his thumb. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffed, her brows knotting with the effort to stop her tears. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean for you and Ron to fight. I didn’t realize he would—it just never seemed like I mattered that much to him, you know?”
“Of course you matter that much,” he said softly, pulling her into an embrace. His bruises ached at the press of her body, but she was sensitive to his injuries, so it was bearable. “But, it wasn’t your fault at all. It was mine and Ron’s fault… for being a couple of prats.”
He felt her tears on his bare shoulder and he stroked her hair gently as she sniffled. “It’s not something you should worry about. It was all fists and bad words. Nothing permanently broken. I promise. Ron and I will talk again, alright?”
She looked up at him worriedly. “And you’ll still be best friends, right? We’ll still be best friends? All three of us?”
It was difficult to be so optimistic at that particular time, but in Harry’s heart, he had a feeling that everything would be fine. “Of course, Hermione.”
They were quiet for a bit before she tilted her chin up to kiss him.
Three minutes of comfort snogging later, Harry realized that though the spirit was willing, the flesh was most decided beaten to a pulp, so the snogging had to stop. Besides, there was Ron to talk to downstairs.
Hermione helped Harry back into his shirt and they headed to the kitchen where Ron was drinking some butterbeer through a straw. He had bandages stuck to his face.
When Remus saw Harry and Hermione, he stood, gathering the first aid kit littering the kitchen table.
“Well,” he said. “I’ve got quite a bit more paperwork to do. I trust you’ll both take care of Hermione.”
It was a subtle way of saying that he expected they weren’t going to brawl in her presence. It was the height of diplomacy.
Harry and Ron nodded.
Remus left, and Harry and Hermione sat at the table with Ron.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and Harry didn’t bother hiding the fact that he had his hand on Hermione’s lap.
“So,” muttered Ron through his swollen lip. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand to tell him she would handle this for the meantime. “We were going to tell you today. We were just trying to figure out how.”
“Well, when Harry and Hermione put their heads together they can accomplish anything,” was his scathing reply.
Harry frowned, growing annoyed all over again. “Sod off, Ron. We didn’t do this to hurt you.”
Ron narrowed his gaze at him. “Nice! It’s the thought that counts, I suppose?”
Hermione sighed. “I’m sorry you found it out the way you did, but I won’t be sorry Harry and I are together.”
“I care for you, you know. And I’ve been carrying this bloody torch for you since fourth year! Ask the Chosen One when he began fancying you!”
A scowl tightened Harry’s expression. “This isn’t about who fancied her the longest! And for your information, I’ve cared for Hermione even longer than you have. You only noticed her during the Yule Ball. I’ve watched out for her ever since I met her.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I—“
“Stop it!” hissed Hermione. “Just stop it, you two! That’s all beside the point! And Ron, I gave you your chance, but that chance is gone. I may not be the Belle of Hogwarts, but I was never desperate. Snogging Lavender, indeed! Did you really think I’d have you after that?”
“That was a phase!” protested Ron.
“Come off it!” growled Hermione. “Contrary to what you think, the women of Gryffindor aren’t your bitches.”
Harry choked on a laugh and found that it was painful on his ribs to do so. He grunted with laughter, anyway, especially seeing the look on Ron’s face which was quickly becoming redder with shame.
Hermione continued to frown. “Anyway, I don’t even know what you were hoping to achieve with that Lavender debacle. If you thought I would lose it and jump her from behind… pulling at her hair and clothes so we can wrestle in a vat of slushy in our knickers, then you’re more delusional than I thought!”
Ron’s eyebrow arched. “Now there’s an idear…”
She glared at him. Harry did too.
“Oy, don’t you be looking at me like that! She brought it up!”
“Now I regret it,” she muttered. “Ron, seriously! We’re going to be able to work through this, aren’t we?”
Ron frowned. “Well, I don’t know, Hermione! How would you feel if it was Harry and me?”
“Well, surprised, for the most part.”
“That’ll make two of us,” Harry muttered.
Ron reddened. “I mean if I were a girl.”
Hermione began to look amused. “Well, now I’m feeling rather tickled.”
“I think Ron would make an ugly girl,” Harry said.
“You know what I mean!” cried Ron in frustration. “This entire thing is just—it’s derailed! It was supposed to be me and Hermione, Harry and Ginny! Like one, big—“
“Happy Weasley Family,” Hermione finished tiredly. “Or Express, since you’re talking about derailment. I hate to tell you this, Ron, but the constellation of train tracks doesn’t revolve around your family.”
“I know that! But—But things were supposed to be that way, anyway.”
Harry shook his head. If Ron was going to be like that, then he really didn’t have much more to say about it.
Hermione was more patient. “Things aren’t meant to be foretold. That’s what I think. If—If Voldemort didn’t hear the first half of the prophesy, he wouldn’t have made the mistake of fulfilling it in the first place.”
Harry looked at her, once again awed by how brilliant she was. It was funny how she still surprised him. The thought that she could sent a pleasant tingle through him.
She smiled, abashed by the intensity of his gaze. “What?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he replied softly as he gave her a fond stare. He clutched her hand as he pressed it to his heart.
“I can’t watch this,” said Ron, rising from his seat in disgust.
Harry didn’t even bother to give him the attention he wanted.
She sighed. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere I don’t have to listen to the two of you!” Ron walked out of the kitchen and they could hear him retiring up the steps.
Hermione looked to Harry, worried.
“He’ll be fine,” said Harry, touching her face.
“I know. I’m worried about you.”
That surprised him. “Me? I’m perfectly happy listening to the two of us.”
She smiled wanly. “Ron’s important to you. He was the one you saved during the Second Task, you know, and that was after he’d acted like such a prat. I’ll never forget that. It meant that when you love, you love unconditionally.”
He hadn’t realized until now that she really was worried about his friendship with Ron, and how this rift was going to affect him. She had cried about it earlier, after she’d patched him up, but Harry had thought she was worried about all three of them. He had misinterpreted the depth of her anxiety.
“Ron and I will be fine,” he said. “I have too much faith in him to believe that we’ll never get back what we had. And he’s your best friend, too. He’ll miss you. He always does.”
“I hope so, Harry.”
He tilted her face up by her chin and kissed her. “You know, I was saving you from that second task, too. But that Bulgarian came out of nowhere…”
She chuckled. “Ah, yes, Viktor.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d be wondering if he Wronskied your Feint.”
She slapped his arm playfully. “Harry! Don’t be vulgar!”
He grinned, gathering her in his arms and pulling her to his lap. She was careful not to hit his bruises and he appreciated her more for it. He placed kisses along her jaw. “I thought you liked it when I sometimes talked—you know—dirty.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I do admit I’m rather… partial to it at times.”
“Partial?”
“Alright, it’s a dreadful turn-on.”
“That’s the spirit.”
He began to kiss her, slipping his hands up under her shirt. Their kiss deepened and Harry whispered his thoughts with such dirty eroticism that he had her gasping and giggling at how crudely delicious it was.
“I’m thinking…” she sighed as he rolled his tongue on her neck.
“And you know I love it when you think…” he murmured.
She grabbed his hand and dragged him up the stairs.
“Where—“
“There’s a bathroom upstairs that has this quaint tub...”
His eyebrow arched in surprised before he grinned. “Oh?”
“I was thinking those bruises of yours can do with a hot, relaxing soak.”
Harry smiled. Indeed, her mind was a beautiful thing.