Author's Note: In the last scene of this chapter, although the characters do not actually engage in the activity we normally associate with NC-17, my penchant for description does.
I gave serious consideration to editing that scene and adding it as a separate cookie on both Yahoo and PK. However, after some talks with my wonderful beta (CC-which by the way you had me rolling with your comments throughout this scene) we determined it best to leave it in with a warning to Yahoo and a rating change on PK (after all, It's already R there-so few people should be excluded). As she has schlepped off to Key West, the ending of that scene will be new to her as well and I think it's important for the plot of the story…so it's in here - please heed the warning if you are underage.
As for the rest of the chapter…you know I rarely do fluff unless it's related to the progress of the story…Luckily…it's all related here, so you have 30 pages of unadulterated FLUFF. I hope you enjoy it!
VLeigh
Chapter 19 - Cherubs with Arrows
"So is he going to do it?" Hermione whispered across the table to Harry. Harry cast his eyes around the room, quickly spotting Professor Snape hovering over Neville and Dean. He looked back to Hermione and lowered his voice.
"I think so," Harry said secretively. Hermione grinned as her eyes flicked across the aisle to the table where Ron and Seamus were looking worriedly into their cauldron. "Will she say yes?" Harry asked so quietly Hermione nearly thought he'd resorted to telepathy.
"I think so," she mouthed in response. After they returned from the Quidditch match, Hermione learned Harry had not been entirely truthful with Ron. Although he'd promised Ron his unequivocal secrecy, he told Hermione about their conversation as soon as he'd gotten her alone. Although she felt he'd left the details out, the general picture was clear. Since that afternoon, she'd been waiting, rather impatiently, for the moment Merc would announce she'd finally been asked to a ball. However, several days had passed and it was beginning to appear as though Ron either lost his nerve or changed his mind. Neither of which was acceptable to Hermione.
"We're all supposed to meet tonight," Harry whispered hopefully. At that moment, a sickening pop sounded from across the aisle and purple potion sprayed across Hermione's parchment, quickly fading to an earthy brown. Harry and Hermione snapped their heads toward Ron and Seamus to see them both fighting back laughter. Harry turned to Hermione (engaged in a rather dramatic eye roll) to keep the contagious laughter from spreading. Snape was swiftly approaching and Harry didn't need to give him another excuse to take additional house points.
Not that it mattered.
"That will be twenty-five points from Finnegan and Weasley for their total inability to follow directions; or perhaps you don't understand the definition of counter-clockwise," Snape announced coldy.
Gryffindor was already behind Slytherin in total house points due to an unfortunate situation involving a few third year students and Professor Snape's undergarments from the laundry. The lions couldn't afford to lose another fifty. Harry gave Hermione a defeated look and began cleaning the potion from the table. Try as he might, the vanishing spell didn't seem to be working on their parchment. "And another twenty-five points from Potter and Granger for submitting sloppy work."
Hermione nearly leapt from her chair. "But, Professor Snape!" she exclaimed as he swept to the front of the room. Harry chimed in before she could continue.
"That's not fair!"
"It was our mistake, Professor," Ron added in a futile attempt to change his mind. Snape stopped abruptly and spun on one heel to face the trio.
"Perhaps I should make it fifty points each?" he challenged.
Hermione had to do something. She knew Harry and Ron too well. One of them was bound to reply and sink Gryffindor to its lowest house total in decades. As she spoke, they slowly turned around in disbelief.
"No, sir. Thank you," she said quietly.
"Submit your vial and tidy your space. I expect each of you to complete three feet of parchment explaining Finnegan and Weasley's error." The collective gasp of the classroom nearly drowned out the sound of the bell. As the students clamored around their tables, stuffing supplies into their bags, Harry snatched the vial from its holder and stormed to the front of the room.
"Harry," Hermione whispered desperately as he walked away. Rooted to the spot, she looked at Ron, whose expression was completely devoid of the humor he sported minutes ago, and returned her eyes to Harry as he reached Snape's desk.
"Your vial, Professor," Harry said coolly as he handed the corked glass to Snape. He raised his eyes from the papers he'd not had time to engage himself in and locked eyes with the Head Boy. Hesitating momentarily, he reached out and silently took the vial from Harry.
That's when Hermione felt it.
She clutched the back of Ron's robes, wanting to hide behind him entirely, as she waited for the inevitable. She peeked around his tall frame to see Harry gliding up the aisle toward them. Just as she began to doubt the emotion she'd felt from him, she noticed his eyes seem to slip from focus and his hand ball itself into a fist.
"Ah!" Pavarti Patil exclaimed as the vial in Snape's hand exploded. The negligible amount of potion contained in the glass sprayed in nearly every direction. Harry threw his bag over his shoulder and turned for the door with Ron and Hermione following closely behind. Just before the trio crossed the threshold, he turned to Professor Snape.
"You really should take more care with that Professor. It would be unfortunate if those spots didn't come off your face." With that, they crossed the threshold, leaving what remained of their classmates in stupefied silence and Snape attempting to wipe the potion off on his sleeve.
"Harry!" Hermione snapped after they'd closed the door behind them. "What are you thinking? He's bound to take more points now!"
Without turning around Harry replied in a deep and even-toned voice, "He's going to take them anyway, Hermione. We might as well make it worth our while." The three of them continued walking toward the common room when Ron's resolve collapsed and he broke into a fit of laughter.
Hermione, still fuming over Harry's disrespect, rounded on Ron. "What are you laughing at? You certainly didn't help Gryffindor either!"
"Did you see the look on his face? That was priceless Harry, really! And the spots! He'll look like he's had enchanted chicken pox for days," Ron said between chuckles. Harry's footsteps drew to a halt and he turned around. Although his face was set in stone, his eyes couldn't conceal an obvious pride in the situation
"Don't be too impressed, Ron. It's all over you too." Ron's smile evaporated as he began furiously inspecting himself.
***
"Are you going to stay angry all night?" Harry asked as Hermione flipped methodically through the pages of a restricted book.
"Possibly," she answered.
"You've not said two words to me since this afternoon."
"Actually, if I've kept proper count, I've said seven words to you," Hermione replied without looking up. Harry, his temper having returned to normal since Potions class, reached across the table to quell her hand before she tore the book's pages. As his hand closed over hers, she looked at him properly. "You're Head Boy. You should be setting a better example." Harry knew she was right, but his sense of outward responsibility was never as clear in the presence of Severus Snape. He knew what Hermione was going for, and he wasn't about to give it to her.
"I'm not going to say I'm sorry, Hermione." Her mouth dropped open. "I'm not. He got what he deserved."
"Sometimes I don't understand you at all," Hermione said quietly.
"But you love me anyway," Harry said wryly. Hermione scoffed and returned her attention to her book. Harry chuckled as she muttered something about "stupid boys" under her breath.
"Hi," Ron said brightly as he set his bag down by the table.
"Speaking of," Hermione muttered. Ron looked at Hermione quizzically and Harry cut off his impending question with warning eyes. Ron's mouth snapped closed as he pulled some parchment from his bag.
"Well, are we ready for another productive night in the restricted section?" Ron said sardonically. Harry started to respond but movement from the opposite side of the library caught his attention.
"Actually, I have a book that I need to show Hermione," Harry said quickly. Hermione looked with a confused expression, pointing at the book splayed out before her. Harry jumped from the table and took her hand, physically turning her in the chair.
"Harry," Hermione began.
"It's the book I told you about. I think it could really have the answer," Harry interjected before she could continue. He pulled her from the chair and around the corner.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione growled. He stopped abruptly and moved a few books aside, looking through the bookshelf.
"Look there," Harry instructed, pointing to the opening he'd created. With an exasperated scoff, Hermione stepped to the bookshelf and peered through. Harry didn't have to wait for her reply. "That's what I'm doing." Hermione's face broke into a grin and Harry stepped up to peer through the bookshelf with her.
"Do you think he'll ask her?" Hermione whispered.
"Whether he does or not, we shouldn't watch." He pulled Hermione away from the opening and readjusted the books on the shelves. Hermione's mouth bobbed open and closed and Harry chuckled at her expression. He knew she felt as he did. He wanted nothing more than to settle in with a box of Bernie Bott's and watch the scene transpire, but out of respect for Ron, he left him to it. This was a big step for him and he didn't need an audience (whether he knew about it or not).
Hermione looked crestfallen. She was clearly having a more difficult time restraining the compulsion to watch. "So, I guess we should get lost for a while," Harry said simply.
Hermione, not catching the implication merely responded, "I suppose we should." She looked up, comprehension slowly crossing her features, and smiled as Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. He grabbed her hand and led her along the dusty bookshelves. There was a spot in the far corner of the library he always checked on rounds. It was a popular spot for couples, and one he and Hermione had never explored.
***
"Hello Ron," Merc said softly. He had been digging for a quill in his bag and her voice quickly caught his attention. She was standing next to the table with her bag slung casually over her shoulder. She was dressed in a pair of well-fitting black pants and a sleeveless V-neck blue jumper. Her hair was haphazardly clipped upside down toward the crown of her head, allowing the highlighted locks to fall indiscriminately around her face. She wore practically no make up, at least none that Ron could tell, and the color of her jumper complimented with her eyes in a way that seemed to make them glow. "Ron?" she inquired. "Are you all right?"
He suddenly realized he'd been staring at her as if they'd never been properly introduced. In hindsight, he might've looked more like a serial stalker than a study partner. "Er, I'm fine. Sit down," he said quickly, pointing to the chair Harry vacated only moments before. She pulled her bag from her shoulder and sat down hesitantly, never taking her perplexed eyes away from Ron.
The table fell silent. Ron, having completely forgotten why he'd been rustling in his bag, attempted to busy himself with something - anything - at the table. He desperately awaited Harry and Hermione's return. However, as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it became completely obvious why they'd left so abruptly. He closed his eyes and drew a breath.
"Are you sure you're okay? You don't look so good," Merc said concernedly. Ron's eyes snapped open as he searched for a response.
Have you lost the ability to speak? Answer her, you dolt!
"I'm fine, really. I've just got a bit on my mind."
"I heard about your Potions class," Merc said apologetically. "I don't think Professor Snape gets along with anyone that's not in Slytherin."
"Is he awful to your house too?" Ron asked sincerely.
"Well, I think he saves the worst for Gryffindor, and especially the three of you; but I can tell you he's certainly not my favorite instructor," Merc answered simply. Just as Ron was becoming comfortable with the conversation it ended and they were left in silence again.
Ron could feel the heat rising under his collar. He felt like Merc knew his intentions and was letting him suffer through the inability to formulate the question without sounding like an escaped baboon from the London Zoo.
What about the direct approach? "Merc, I'm taking you to the ball."
Great, you can drag her there by her hair.
Subtle? "If you're not doing anything on Valentine's…"
No.
"I don't have a date to the…"
Did you learn nothing from the Yule ball?
Ron's head dropped into his hands. He simply couldn't find the right words. Anything he said was bound to come out poorly. But that wasn't the worst of his fear, he was entirely convinced that he'd not only make a fool of himself, but end up in the same situation after his request, than before…without a date.
"I know what's bothering you Ron. You really don't have to be so concerned," Merc said suddenly as she began taking books and parchment from her bag. Ron's head snapped up and he looked at her questioningly.
She does know what I'm going to ask! Maybe she will say yes!
He gathered his composure with renewed courage to launch into the question he'd avoided for a solid week. He straightened up in the chair but couldn't will himself to turn toward her.
"You…you know what's bothering me?"
"It's obvious isn't it? It is coming up rather quickly."
Ron's face was on fire. It was now or never. If he was going to maintain his resolve he had to do it now, before he could talk himself out of it…again. He opened his mouth and drew an audibly shaky breath.
"Yes, well I was…"
"With Crabbe and Goyle as their beaters, Slytherin really isn't up to scratch this year. Everyone knows it will be Gryffindor and Slytherin in the finals. The Quidditch Cup is as good as yours," she interrupted whilst organizing her materials on the table.
The breath Ron strangled in his throat while Merc spoke, escaped suddenly leaving him thoroughly deflated.
Quidditch!
"What?" Merc asked quietly.
Ron, not understanding whether he'd made his last comment aloud or not, scrambled for some matter of response. As it turned out, he chose poorly.
"Well, after watching what Slytherin did to you, I figured our chances were pretty good."
The silence that befell the two was rife with a tension that echoed in the very air surrounding them. Ron's nonchalant expression darkened as soon as he realized exactly how that comment sounded.
Brilliant, Weasley.
After a few moments of stunned silence, Merc closed her mouth and shook herself back to reality. In one swift motion she swept the few things she'd gathered back into her bag and began shaking her head. "I should go," she said, voice quaking. "I'm not feeling very well. I dare say I'll be little help to you tonight."
She's leaving! Stop her!
Merc stood up quickly, her chair haphazardly rocking backward, and pulled her bag over her shoulder. Her eyes met Ron's briefly and she flashed a weak smile. Without another word she turned from the table and began walking away. Instinct drove Ron. Without giving it a second thought he reached up suddenly and grabbed her hand, stopping her in her tracks. Merc snapped her head around, a look of complete shock etched across her face. She opened her mouth to reply but Ron was too quick.
"Before you say anything, let me apologize. I didn't mean that to sound like it did. It didn't come out right." He looked down where his hand was still grasping hers. Without letting go, he continued, "Nothing is coming out right."
"What do you mean?"
He wasn't sure if she was being polite or was still too surprised to retract her own hand, but she didn't. Ron toyed with the idea of having her sit down, but decided to meet her on her own terms. He rose up in front of her, her eyes following his, until he stood silently before her.
"I don't know what's wrong with me,' Ron scoffed. "I have the best intentions and it never seems to come out right." He was encouraged by the smile that crossed Merc's eyes. "You're wrong."
"What?" The smile vanished as she become obviously confused by the apparent change of subject.
"I'm not worried about the Quidditch Cup. Oddly enough, Quidditch is the last thing on my mind right now." His eyes drifted compellingly toward their hands as his brain raced for a suave way to broach the subject. Sadly, nothing came to mind. Ron's thoughts were solely consumed with the elegance of her long fingers lying motionless against his palm.
"Then what's the matter?"
Ron drew a breath and looked her squarely in the face. "I want to ask you something, and have no idea how to do it."
"Why don't you just ask me? I'll try to help," Merc said warmly.
"Okay." Ron hesitated, the moment having thrust itself upon him. "I was wondering if you, er…wouldn't mind going to the ball with me?" he said, thankful that his voice hadn't given out, climbed a few octaves, or broken all together. He chanced a glance toward her, terrified of her response. She looked completely confused. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her mouth opened slightly and she didn't seem to be breathing. "Merc?"
"What did you say?"
Oh, sweet Merlin, she's going to make me ask again!
"Did you just ask me to the Valentine's ball?"
Or not…thank the gods.
"Yes," he replied, damning his voice for quivering the response. Suddenly, he realized he was still holding her hand. He became increasingly terrified she was going to lay him out, or curse him, and he awkwardly pulled his hand back, stuffing them into his pockets in a vain attempt to look casual. "You probably have a date already…I have notoriously bad timing with…"
"Yes."
"What?"
"I'd love to go with you." He looked at her squarely and saw a bright smile lighting up her complexion.
"You would? Well, er - good. We'll go then," Ron stammered as Merc stepped backward from him unsteadily.
"Er - I have to go," she said looking quickly toward the library entrance.
"Okay." That was as much of a reply as Ron could get out before Merc turned, nearly running, for the heavy oak doors. He stood here, watching her disappear from the room, before realizing his knees had dissolved to water and he collapsed, unceremoniously, into his chair.
***
"Harry," Hermione asked breathlessly. "Do you think he's asked her yet?" she continued between punctuated kisses.
Without removing his lips from the juncture of her shoulder and neck Harry replied, "I can honestly say - right now - I could care less." Hermione's eyes rolled back in her head as Harry suckled on the throbbing spot of her throat that always turned her legs to gelatin. She ran one hand through his unruly hair while the other arm surrounded him entirely.
"We're going to get caught," Hermione said quietly, not really caring whether they did or not. Harry pulled his head up and looked at her interestedly.
"We're the ones who would catch us, Hermione," he said with a chuckle.
"Too right," she replied. The hand that had been playing in his locks suddenly knotted itself in his hair as she pulled his head toward her determinedly. He showed no signs of resistance as he wrapped both arms around her. Their lips met with a fiery passion as Hermione began to search for something - anything - that could keep her standing. It never seemed to matter how many times they'd kissed like this, she found herself equally unable to support her own weight nearly every time. Either Harry understood her dilemma or experienced the same problem.
He walked her backwards a few steps and gently leaned her against the wall- his hands supporting himself on either side of her head as they continued their endeavor. Hermione slid her hands under his jumper, letting them drift across his warm skin. She was just getting interested in doing a bit more when Harry stepped back. His arms were still supporting himself against the wall as he dropped his head. Hermione smiled inwardly, her breathing was nearly as ragged as his. Although thoroughly disappointed, she had the feeling he was about to end their activities for the evening. She was about to make a comment to that effect when she realized his chest was still heaving.
"Harry?" She placed a hand on either side of his head and forcibly turned his face up to his. As soon as her eyes met his she was flooded with a variety of emotions from him. She didn't need to ask what was happening to him, the pained expression on his face, and the thinly veiled fear she could feel, was enough of an answer.
It also gave her an idea.
She continued to hold his face between her hands and looked into his eyes. "What is he feeling, Harry?" He turned his head to the side, squeezing his eyes together tightly. She couldn't tell if he was trying to do as she told him, or trying not to. "Focus on what's behind the pain. What's he doing?" Harry gasped for breath, his arms shaking as he kept them firmly planted on along the wall. Hermione's heart was breaking; she hated to see him in any pain, least of all from this source. Without thinking, she moved her hand from the side of his face and began running her thumb over his scar in an attempt to massage the pain away. To her surprise, it didn't feel any different from the rest of him.
Harry took a few gulping breaths as she watched his shoulders relax. She'd seen this enough to know the worst had passed. She slid under his arm and walked him to a nearby chair. He sat down gratefully with his elbows propped on his legs and sunk his head into his palms. Before she could speak, he did. "I certainly know how to ruin the mood," he muttered. Hermione couldn't help but smile as she ran her hands through his hair.
"You don't, so much as he does," she replied. She knelt down in front of him and put her hands on his knees. "Did it work? Did you get anything from him?" Harry didn't respond. "Harry?"
"A little," he said quietly. He picked up his head and looked at her. "Where did you get that idea?"
Hermione shifted uneasily, hoping that it wasn't a truly bad idea. She hadn't analyzed the ramifications before telling him what to do. "I don't know. It just seemed a bit like the empathy lessons I've had. If he has some magical connection to you, who's to say it can't work both ways?"
"But, last time we were like this, you felt it too," Harry said quizzically. Harry was right. Last year, she had felt the pain in his scar as clearly as he had. But, she'd given Dumbledore's comments a great deal of consideration over the course of this year. She'd come to the same conclusion he had; Hermione's empathy was the connection to Harry. She could feel what he could, and understanding his sporadic connections with Lord Voldemort only made her more determined to practice shielding. This had been her first true test, and she was rather impressed that she'd blocked the pain successfully.
"I'm learning to shield," she replied and quickly and redirected the conversation to the issue at hand. "So what little did you pick up?"
Harry sat up, seeming fully returned to himself, and inhaled deeply. "I'm not sure how to describe it. I didn't hear him say anything, it's just a feeling I have."
"What is it?"
"They're finalizing some sort of plan. He's confident they can succeed this time," he hesitated. "He's got people feeding him information."
"The leak," Hermione said darkly.
"I suppose." Harry looked at his watch and down the dusty shelves toward the area where they had been sitting. "We've got to find something. I have the distinct feeling that we're running out of time."
"I know," Hermione dropped her eyes to the floor. In truth she'd felt like a failure for most of the year. They'd started on this path during first term. Now, it was February, and they'd not happened upon anything that seemed like a viable defeat for the most powerful dark wizard of the age. For all the lauding she'd received about being Hogwart's best and brightest, she hadn't come up with a single spell. She couldn't shake the nagging voice in her head that constantly reminded her if Harry died in this fight, she could share the blame. Her eyes welled with stinging tears, as they always did when her thoughts drifted here, and the weight that had been lodged in her chest, seemed only to throb under the stress. She felt Harry's hands touch the sides of her face as he gently turned her toward him.
"We may be running out of time, but I'm making time for us."
"What do you mean?" A small tear escaped from the corner of her eye and slipped down her cheek. Harry wiped it away with his thumb and stood up, encouraging her to do the same.
He wrapped his arms around her and rested his forehead against hers. "No more searching; not until after the ball."
"But,"
"No. You need a break. We all do. Let's make the next few days ours before we give them all back to him."
Hermione smiled as the weight in her chest lifted, if only slightly. She knew herself well enough to know she'd never authorize herself to skive off such an important task. She also knew Harry to be as determinedly stubborn as she was. If he said there would be no more nights in the library for the next few days, he would ensure that she adhere to his request. He was the one who'd have to face Voldemort, and yet he just gave her permission to take a much needed break. She was eternally grateful for his understanding and could think of only one way to tell him. She pulled her head back, closed her eyes and concentrated solely on the man embracing her.
I love you.
Harry smiled. "That was easier to do when we didn't know how we were doing it." Hermione laughed. She'd made progress in shielding and knew he was continuing to practice Occlumency; he was right, it used to be easier. She relaxed in his arms and put her ear to his chest. She felt his chin rest on the top of her head and sighed audibly.
"Ahem." Someone was clearing their throat rather loudly. Both Harry and Hermione turned in the direction of the intruder, breaking into equally wide smiles. "You can come out now. Merc left twenty minutes ago."
***
"Are you sure about this color, Hermione?"
"Even if I'm not it's a bit late to change it now," Hermione replied, splashing in the tub. Since neither girl could prepare for the ball in the other's house, she and Merc chose to get ready in the Head Girl's bathroom. It was a massive marble room. The bathtub was equally as stunning as those installed in the prefect's bathroom, but this room obviously catered to one female occupant, rather than multiple students. There was a large upholstered chair, and a wardrobe that produced whatever toiletries and finery the Head Girl desired. Hermione had the added benefit of choosing her own password. Rather unimaginatively, she'd chosen, "Hermione Potter," and checked the corridors, blushing furiously every time she'd said it. Until today, that password had been her schoolgirl secret, now it was tantamount to blackmail if she ever gave Merc the reason.
Merc continued to pick at the new robes hanging on the pewter hook. Valentine's day, and the ball Hogwart's was sponsoring, fell on a Tuesday. Therefore, Professor Dumbledore had allowed a last-minute Hogsmeade weekend so students (particularly the girls that had usurped all his time with begging requests) could purchase any last minute items for the ball. While Ron and Harry kept themselves to Quality Quidditch Supplies and Honeydukes, Merc and Hermione spent their time in Gladrags Wizard Wear with, what appeared to be, nearly every other female student enrolled at Hogwarts.
It didn't take Hermione long to find the gown she'd imagined. It was relatively simple and understated, but it was exactly what she wanted. When she'd emerged from the dressing room to show Merc it did not escape her attention that several girls stopped to sneer at her.
It was a sleeveless, floor-length, black gown tailored in crepe-back satin. It had a plunging V-neck that she felt sure her father would've had quite a lot to say about. The neck was trimmed with very simple black satin cording that seemed to be encrusted with sparkling silver. That cording split over her shoulders into double glistening spaghetti straps that crossed over her shoulder blades in the back, attaching themselves to the dress along her sides and meeting together at the small of her back. There, the silver cording multiplied into several elegant glistening strands that rested along the back of the dress, which pooled in a very short train behind her.
"Excuse my language, but bloody hell Hermione," Merc said, eyes popping out of her skull as Hermione turned around. Drifting in the bubble filled tub, Hermione smiled remembering her reaction. "I don't think we need to go back to the library. You're going to give Harry a heart attack in that gown!" Hermione had retreated back to the dressing room amid Merc's mumbling that the, "Poor bloke will never know what hit him." It had taken Hermione all of ten minutes to find, try-on, and purchase the black gown. Merc took a bit more effort.
As far as Hermione was concerned, Merc had a lot to work with. She'd played Quidditch since she was very small and had the muscle tone to prove it. She had great shoulders, long legs, and a thin waist. For all her blubbering about never being noticed, it was only because, in Hermione's opinion, she never put forth the effort. She wore clothes that covered her entirely, often opting for jumpers and trousers more than anything else. Her hair seemed permanently charmed into a simple ponytail and for the beautiful green eyes she had, she didn't take much time to bring them out. That was where Hermione started.
Gladrags, in preparation for the Hogsmeade weekend, had separated their stock by both size and color. Hermione pulled Merc along the racks, stopping at the circular rack containing every emerald green dress Gladrags could produce in Merc's size. They picked through them one by one, Merc seeming equally as daunted by each successive gown. Eventually, Hermione took to pulling them from the rack and specifically ordering her to try them on. Merc did as she was told, each time emerging from the dressing room looking equally as sheepish as she had with the dress before. Hermione was sure of one thing though…green.
The emerald fabrics brought out her eyes so well at times she thought she was staring into Harry's. Knowing how addictive his eyes were, she thought the color of the gown would have the same effect for Ron. Most importantly, green did not clash with his fire red hair like some of the pink and coral gowns Merc had pointed out.
"I'm still a bit nervous about this one, Hermione." Merc's voice bounced along the marble walls, drawing Hermione from her memories. "I'm just not as confident as you are."
"Just wait until I'm done with you. You won't recognize yourself," she settled back into the bubbles thinking about the dress she and the Gladrags sales witch had nearly ordered Merc to buy.
When she came out of the dressing room, the sales witch stopped in her tracks. Hermione knew she'd been watching them from her perch behind the counter. She seemed genuinely interested in the goings on. Without reserve, Hermione looked to the witch and said, "That's the one, don't you agree." The sales witch nodded silently, seeming to forget to blink. Merc shifted in the doorway, absently running her hands along the front of the dress and turning in the mirror skeptically.
It was a deep emerald gown that consumed the light so fully at times it appeared a rich navy blue or black. It was sleeveless with a high cropped neck that left her shoulders and well-toned arms on display. The back was completely bare, plunging nearly too low for propriety's sake. It was fitted along her frame to the floor and had a walking slit that cut up the left side, stopping along the middle of her thigh. The front was conservatively cut out along her chest in a diamond shape, topped off in a golden jeweled and ribboned neckline that clasped at the nape of her neck and sent a few sparkling golden wisps down her back. Over any objections Merc might've attempted, Hermione and the sales witch put every other gown back on the rack and took this dress to the counter themselves. If Hermione was nearly speechless at the sight of her, she couldn't wait to see Ron. He might just hyperventilate in the corridor. Hermione was secretly looking forward to his attempt to string together a coherent sentence. The thought made her laugh aloud.
"There you go laughing again. What is so funny?" Merc asked.
"Nothing. Just promise me you'll take nothing Ronald Weasley says to heart. He's liable to insult every living creature on two legs in the attempt to tell you how beautiful you are," Hermione laughed.
"Beautiful?" Merc looked at her skeptically. "I think you used different bubbles than I did. Those must have some kind of potion in them."
"Oh, sod it, Merc. You will be stunning!"
Merc looked over the cosmetics-strewn counter top and sighed. "Not if you don't get out of that tub and help me with all this stuff. I have no idea where to start."
*
"Knight to H2," Ron said quietly as his knight began galloping toward an unsuspecting pawn. Harry raised an eyebrow as it ran the pawn through on its sword and hurled it bodily from the chess board. Harry studied the board, looking to make his next move. "What do you think takes girls so long?"
"What?" Harry replied, looking up from the board.
"Girls. Hermione left two hours ago to start getting ready for this ball. What in the name of Merlin takes a girl three hours to prepare for?" Ron asked as his eyes remained locked on the chess pieces before him.
"Ron, there are some questions we will never know the answers to. That is one of them." He returned his eyes to the board, scanning what was left of his pieces when he felt someone arrive at his side. The croak let him know who it was without breaking his concentration. "Neville, you aren't taking the toad to the ball are you?"
"No," Neville laughed. "He got out of his cage, I was rounding him up."
"Who are you taking?' Ron inquired.
"Ginny of course," Neville answered. "She didn't tell you?" Harry looked up to see a scowl crossing Ron's face.
"No."
"I'd best get cleaned up," Neville said, scampering off for the boys' dormitory.
"I don't think Ginny tells me much of anything these days," Ron said with a tangible anger behind his voice.
*
"Are you ready?" Hermione asked as Merc straightened the straps along her back.
"I suppose," Merc replied. Hermione turned around, planted her hands on Merc's shoulders and turned her bodily toward the mirror.
"Look at you," Hermione demanded. "You are stunning." Merc smiled involuntarily. She'd never felt quite like this in her life. This was the first formal event she could remember going to, and certainly the most eye-catching gown she'd ever worn. As much as she hated to admit it, she did look rather inspiring.
"Thanks to you," Merc dismissed.
"Bullocks. I did your hair and your make-up, the rest of this," Hermione pointed to her reflection in the mirror, "is all you."
"You are breathtaking, dear," the mirror chimed. "As are you Ms. Granger. I certainly hope your dates are up to the task." Both Merc and Hermione smiled together. Merc touched the stack of golden bangles on her left wrist. She'd charmed them to transfigure into a watch anytime she clasped the outermost ones together. When she removed her hand, they changed back into bangles. Currently, they were indicating that Ron and Harry should be waiting for them in the Great Hall's main foyer.
"It's time to go to the ball, Cinderella," Hermione said as she picked up her matching clutch and stuffed it with a few cosmetic necessities.
Merc took one last look in the mirror. The emerald gown fit her perfectly. Hermione had taken extra care with her make-up to continue drawing out the green in her eyes. Honestly, she'd never seen them sparkle so brightly. Her hair was pulled up into and elegant twist, held together by a jeweled clip on the left side. Hermione had pulled several tendrils out, along the side and back and twisted them into bouncing curls. The finishing spray glistening with the slightest hint of a golden glitter that served to emphasize the caramel highlights in her hair. Her make up was understated, allowing her features to shine through and she was wearing a pair of high heeled shoes that would ensure she'd be the tallest girl there.
That's okay; you'll still be shorter than Ron.
She drew a breath and turned from the mirror, allowing her eyes to fall on Hermione. If anyone was stunning, she was. The black dress she wore, accented every quality she had. If she had any faults with her body, the dress did not violate her trust. She wore a beautiful silver pendant necklace that fell perfectly along the plunging v-neck, and a pair of strappy sandals Merc would never have the confidence to put on. Her hair was piled atop her head, leaving the excess to fall around her face in similar flowing curls. Her earrings and bracelets matched her necklace perfectly. Merc sighed as she thought about them arriving together. She almost wished she could go separately. Merc was not known to be the most feminine of girls (nor did she believe herself to be), and she couldn't hold a candle to Hermione's appearance. If they arrived together, Ron was likely to forget she was even there.
Well, no one will notice you if you act all sheepish. Get it together girl! Confidence!
Merc took a determined breath. She played confident all the time, why should tonight be any different. She turned on her heel, collected her bag and opened the door. Hermione followed behind her and they traversed the corridor in quiet anticipation. They arrived at the top of the stone steps, looking down on Ron and Harry below. Harry was leaning casually against the wall, decked out in well-fitting black dress robes. Ron was pacing nervously, over Harry's irritated objections, in similar black attire.
Merc thought if anyone was stunning it might just be their dates. She looked to Hermione, whose eyes were determinedly locked on Harry, a grin peeking out of the corners of her mouth. She stepped forward to begin descending the stairs only to have Hermione grasp her arm and whisper, "not yet." Merc, although confused, obeyed and they stood silently at the top of the stairs.
"Honestly, what is it with girls?" Ron snapped as he continued to pace in front of Harry.
"Ron, if you don't stop flitting around in front of me I'm going to body-bind you! You're making me dizzy," Harry replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Ron continued to carry on about punctuality and how long it takes a girl to do her hair when the moment arrived. Harry dropped his hand throwing his head back with a grumble and rolling his eyes. However, as he looked up, he caught sight of Hermione and froze.
Merc looked toward her friend who was incapable of concealing the smile that erupted on her face from his initial reaction. Her infectious smile was reflected in his face and he pushed off the wall, taking slow and deliberate steps toward the staircase. As he began to approach the foot of the stairs, Hermione glanced to Merc and whispered, "wait for it." She began a calculated descent of the stairs, her hand lazily gliding along the banister as she seemed to float toward him. Still silent, Harry put his hand to his chest as his mouth bobbed open and closed. Never taking his eyes from Hermione, he walked directly in front of Ron's angry pacing.
"Harry!" Ron barked. He looked at the expression on his face and Merc felt her heart leap into her throat. She was standing alone at the top of the stairs, and she was next. As if in slow motion, Ron turned his head toward the stairs, pausing briefly on Hermione, who never broke her stride toward Harry, and followed the marble stairs to the apex where Merc stood expectantly.
She felt his eyes floating over her as he raised his head from her feet to her face. She always thought the guy was the one who was supposed to be breathless in this situation. As it was, her lungs were screaming for the air she'd forgotten to breathe. With a final look toward Hermione, whose hand was clutched in Harry's as he led her from the final step, Merc started her descent.
Please don't trip…please don't trip…please don't trip.
She mustered the courage to look at Ron, still immobile with his mouth agape and smiled warmly. She couldn't help it, the look on his face was priceless. Hermione apparently thought so as well. After a welcoming kiss and a few whispered pleasantries Merc couldn't hear, she and Harry had turned to watch her approach. Hermione was beaming as she looked at Ron; Harry was chuckling softly and shaking his head.
The staircase seemed longer than it ever had. Ron never flinched while she walked toward him, nor did he seem to breathe or think. When she reached the landing she pulled her hand from the banister and clutched her purse in front of her. "Hello Ron," she said quietly, the blush searing her cheeks.
"Er, um…uh," he stammered. Harry broke into audible laughter now and walked, toward her with Hermione's arm laced through his. Merc looked at them both and smiled.
What a stunning couple they are.
Harry used his free hand to reach for Merc's. He gave the back of her hand a chivalric kiss and said, "That's 'Weasley' for 'you are breathtaking.'" Hermione wiped a tear from her eye as Harry's comment seemed to reunite Ron with the land of the living.
"Whoa there boy wonder, do you mind getting your hands off my date," Ron said with mirth. Merc couldn't help the smile, she was sure anyone passing through could've counted every tooth in her head. She'd never been fought over by two handsome boys - not that Harry had any intention of it, but the entire exchange did wonders for her confidence. If only from the look on Ron's face, she finally felt as beautiful as Hermione and hat mirror claimed she was.
***
"So she didn't tell you about her date either?" Harry asked as he swayed with Hermione on the dance floor.
"No," she replied thoughtfully. He looked across the crowded Great Hall toward Ginny as Neville appeared to step on her foot for the hundredth time this evening. "She certainly doesn't look like she's enjoying herself." Hermione said - seeming to echo what Harry was thinking. He spun her around quickly drawing her attention back to him.
"I am." She smiled in response. "Have I told you how absolutely incredible you look tonight?"
"About once every ten minutes," Hermione laughed.
"Clearly, not often enough." He twirled her around again, joining in her laughter. For the first time in a long time, he thought of nothing but her, and it was wonderful. He was surrounded by friends, enjoying an evening completely devoid of evil. Well, with the exception of Malfoy who was neither a friend, and was entirely evil as far as Harry was concerned. He was scowling at a nearby table as Pansy nearly tripped over herself to bring him a glass of punch. Harry could nearly understand his plight, Pansy was not exactly an attractive date, certainly not for the self-proclaimed Casanova of Hogwarts.
The music drew to a close and Harry led Hermione to the table where Ron and Merc were talking quietly. All in all, he thought Ron was doing a great job keeping his foot out of his mouth. Their conversation seemed rather fluid and only fell into awkward silence on a few noted occasions. Whenever that happened, Merc drew the conversation back to Quidditch, food, or Slytherin-bashing and they were back off to the races. The only issue Harry could see was that Ron had yet to bring her onto the dance floor. Although, Merc said nothing and acted very disinterested in the entire prospect, her eyes betrayed her. More than once, Harry caught Merc's eyes drifting longingly over the dance floor as the slow music invited a throng of students to join in the celebration.
He'd waited for hours and still hadn't asked her. The end of the ball was only ninety minutes away. It was time to take matters into his own hands. He couldn't draw Ron away from their conversation to knock some sense into him, and Merc didn't seem to want to leave his side.
You're head boy! Lead by example.
He finished the last of his punch, and with a clandestine wink toward Hermione he turned to her friend. "Merc?"
"Yes?"
"Would you like to dance?" he asked, unable to keep a pointed glare from issuing in Ron's direction. Merc looked between Harry and Ron hesitantly. Harry didn't quite think about the position such a request would put her into. Luckily, Hermione came to his rescue.
"Honestly, Ron. You've not asked me to dance once tonight. I'm feeling a bit left out."
"Well," Ron looked toward Merc and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay." The four of them rose from the table together and walked silently to the dance floor. As the music came up Harry placed his hands benignly on her hips as she dropped hers over his shoulder. As he turned her around, he noticed Hermione's arms draped over Ron as they talked quietly. He knew that look. She was doing her best to pump him for information about Merc.
He looked back to his partner with a smile. "So, are you having a good time?"
"Wonderful," she simply beamed as she looked past Harry's shoulder to the place Ron and Hermione occupied. Harry didn't see any reason in keeping her out of the loop.
"Ron's a bit thick sometimes. I thought this might encourage him to ask you for the next dance." Merc grinned as she dropped her eyes to the floor.
"Thank you," she mumbled.
"No problem." He spun her around a bit, enjoying the sound of her laughter, and the sight of Hermione beaming at him from across the room. Lost in his own thoughts of Hermione, he paid little attention to where he was going; ending up adjacent to the one person he'd have rather avoided tonight.
"Well, Potter. You seem to have traded up to a pure-blood," Malfoy drawled as Pansy snorted a laugh. It was the first time he'd really felt Merc's hands on his shoulders. She gripped him firmly and turned him away, forcibly leading him away from that spot.
"Harry?"
"What?" he replied without removing his glare from Malfoy.
"Tonight is about you and Hermione. Don't let that git ruin it for you." Harry turned back to her and smiled weakly. She had a point, if only to remind him that Hermione would scarcely forgive him for starting a fight - or finishing one - during the ball.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
"What did he say to you?" A familiar voice sounded over his shoulder. Harry turned them around until he was dancing next to Ron and Hermione.
"Nothing," Harry answered. "He just reminded me that I have absconded with the wrong date." He winked at Hermione.
"Well, in that case, you won't mind if I cut in," Ron answered, looking at Merc who quickly looked away.
"Not at all." He stepped back from Merc and took her hands in his. "Thank you for the dance,' he said warmly. She merely smiled, looking expectantly toward Ron as they switched partners and trailed away.
"So what did he say?" Hermione echoed Ron's question.
"Nothing important," Harry said, kissing her on the forehead. He gave fleeting glance over his shoulder where Ron and Merc were swaying together to the slow rhythm of the music. "How about we go for a walk?" Hermione looked at him quizzically. "I could use some air."
"Lead the way," she responded as he wrapped an arm around her and headed for the door.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Harry said a few minutes later as he walked across the lawn with Hermione.
"I'm fine," she said, he chattering teeth resounding over her words. Harry unclasped his robes and pulled them off. He stopped in front of her, wrapping his robes around her and reclasping them in the front. "Aren't you going to be cold?"
Harry was left in a pair of trousers and a black button down shirt that did not block the wind with any measure of effectiveness. But, he was more concerned that she be comfortable. He didn't want to go back inside and would face the cold if it left them to their privacy. "I'll be fine," he said, shivering, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her down the path toward the lake.
"It's funny," Hermione began as she looked around the trees. "We've been here so many times, and every time it looks different."
"You look beautiful."
"You mentioned that," Hermione said sarcastically.
"You pulled out all the stops tonight. I'm not sure how you'll top yourself for the wedding," Harry replied, taking her hand and walking along the pebbled shoreline.
"Wedding," Hermione said softly. "Sometimes it all seems so surreal, so far away. It's like were talking about two other people or something."
"You're not getting cold feet on me are you?"
"Harry, right now everything on me is cold," Hermione retorted lightly.
"Come here," he said, directing her to a large rock and pulling his wand from his pocket. They sat down together as he cast a localized warming spell over them both.
"Thanks," she replied, relaxing in the manufactured bubble of heat he'd conjured. They sat there silently, looking over the lake together. "Do you ever think about it?" she turned to face him. "Our wedding," she clarified.
"I dream about it," Harry replied without reserve.
"What do you dream?"
"It varies. Sometimes it's you. Sometimes it's the people that have come to watch. I see my parents, I talk to Sirius, I see your dad walking you down the aisle," Harry said solemnly.
"Those are dreams," Hermione replied picking at an errant thread from Harry's robes.
"On thing is always the same though, no matter how different anything else is," he continued.
"What's that?"
"It's always you." He leaned into her, capturing her mouth with a tender kiss. They remained like that for a moment, their lips lingering against each other longingly. "And it's always here."
"Where?"
"Here at Hogwarts," he answered.
"Really? Not in a church, or a garden, or the like?" Hermione inquired.
"No. It's always at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall," Harry said, looking over his shoulder toward the castle up the sloping landscape in the distance.
"But this is just a school," she interjected.
"It's a school for you, Hermione. For me, it's home," Harry said wistfully as he studied the sparkling beams of light that flowed from the castle windows. "A home I have to leave in a few months." Hermione looked at him with a perplexed expression. Harry was suddenly reminded, for as close as they were to each other, they still had remarkably different experiences.
He picked up a few pebbles and lazily threw them into the lake one after another as he spoke. "You had a home and a family that loved you. No matter what you've lost, you have those memories forever. The memories of my family are ones I'd rather forget. Privet Drive was more a prison than anything else." Harry chuckled at the implication. "It's funny," he looked at Hermione, "how much Pettigrew took from us all. Not only did my parents die because of him, Lupin lost every one of his closest friends, Sirius went to Azkaban, and I went someplace hardly more hospitable." Hermione took his hand in hers. He squeezed it supportively. "For everything that's happened here, it's the only place I've ever felt like I belong." He looked into Hermione's eyes. "It's the only place I've ever felt loved."
"Then this is where we'll get married," she answered, tears glistening in her eyes. Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight to his chest.
"Sometimes, when I think about you, I think my life hasn't really been that bad." She wrapped her arms around him tightly as she buried her head farther into his chest.
"Harry?"
"Yeah."
She pulled her head back and looked at him. Her eyes were the darkest shade of brown he'd ever seen and her voice was deeper than he'd ever heard it. "Let's go inside." It didn't escape his attention that her eyes had not drifted from his lips as she spoke the words.
"I'd like that."
***
"Did you have a good time?"
"I had a fantastic time, Ron. Thank you so much for asking me, really," Merc replied as their footsteps echoed in the corridor together. Professor Dumbledore had thanked the students for their attendance and ended the Valentine's Ball a half hour ago. Since that time, Ron and Merc had wandered aimlessly around the corridors under the pretense of heading back to Ravenclaw tower. It didn't escape his attention that the corridors cleared rather quickly, one of the rattling broom closets they'd passed affirmed his suspicion as to what activities some of his fellow students had engaged in. In all honesty, he didn't care. They could've walked half the night and it wouldn't have bothered Ron. He'd set moderate expectations for the evening, and each of them had been shattered. There was little denial left in his heart. He'd enjoyed the ball, but he enjoyed his date even more.
He'd found it much easier to talk with her than it had been over the course of the year. Rarely did they visit that place where silence reigned supreme. When they did it was oddly comfortable, rather than awkward. He didn't search for things to talk about; topics just seemed to find them both.
He smiled as he thought back to his first glimpse of her. She completely took his breath away - along with his voice and any coherent thought. Even now, several hours later, with her make-up faded and her hair slipping loose of her elegant twist, he had no word to describe her other than "beautiful," and no explanation for how he'd missed it before.
Feeling emboldened by his good cheer, he reached for her hand as they traversed the corridor. Although obviously startled by the sudden gesture, she made no excuse to remove her hand from his as they rounded the last turn toward her tower. It was then, that he noticed her becoming significantly more nervous. It hadn't taken him long to realize she fidgeted or talked incessantly when she was nervous. That's exactly what she'd begun doing as her portrait hole grew closer.
"So anyway, I really did have a spectacular time, Ron. I'd say we could do it again, but I'm rather sure there won't be any more gala events before we leave this place."
"Merc?"
"But it's okay, we'll see each other in the library, and on the pitch, and oh! If you wanted to work on that left-handed slant I was talking about we could get together when the teams aren't practicing…"
"Merc?" he said a little more sternly.
"Right, well. I should go inside now." She motioned toward her House portrait as she pulled her hand away from Ron. "I'm sure you're tired. I'm dead on my feet." Her hands were playing with her purse and she was rocking from one foot to the other.
"Merc," he repeated.
"Yes?" she replied as she turned toward the giggling portrait of a young girl and her mother.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Merc's face instantly exploded in a searing blush. She fidgeted in her spot and looked toward her handbag.
"No," she said quickly. "I've got it all right here and I'm sure if I'd left anything in the Great Hall I could just pick it up tomorrow. Filch isn't good for much, but he does run a rather efficient lost and found."
"I meant your password. You haven't opened the portrait hole yet," Ron replied. This entire situation was tantamount to an out of body experience for him. He couldn't remember the last time he was cool and collected while those in his presence were falling apart at the seams. If he didn't think laughter would be detrimental to his situation, he would've let the chuckle go that he'd barely contained.
"Oh," Merc was startled quiet, if only momentarily. "Right, the password. She spun toward the portrait in an obvious attempt to escape what had quickly become the most awkward experience of Ron's life. Although he had no experience in this department, he was clever enough to know what her sudden concern was about.
This is just like asking her to the ball. It's easier if you don't think, and just go for it.
As the portrait hole swung open, he saw her quickly move toward the entrance…his last, best opportunity about to disappear into that door. In short, he wasn't willing to let that happen.
He grabbed her wrist as she moved to step through to her common room and pulled her back into the corridor.
"Oh! Yes, I forgot to say goodn-" That was a far as she got.
Ron slid his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her head toward his. Their lips crashed against each other. He wasn't sure if the gasp that came from her was in response to him kissing her or hurting her. It didn't seem to matter.
Not entirely sure what he should do next, he kept his lips pressed firmly against hers as she relaxed noticeably. When her arms slid around the base of his neck, he lost all matter of conscious control. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her smooth skin along her exposed back. They inclined their heads in opposite directions, granting each other full access as they opened their mouths to explore each other. Ron could taste the sweetness of the chocolate covered strawberries she'd nursed throughout the night and a tingling sensation erupted from his chest and rose straight through to his scalp. He kept her pulled tightly to him, attempting in vain, to devour what remained of that sensation.
If neither of them had done this before, a passerby would scarcely know the difference. Frankly, if someone was passing by, Ron didn't care. All he cared about was her. All he cared about was this. All he cared about was maintaining the electricity that coursed through every cell in his body. He held her tightly, a moan escaping her throat that surged through him like a lightning bolt. Breathless, he broke away from her before she could understand the full measure of his interest.
She stood there, leaning against the wall, her eyes still closed with her lips glistening. He ran his fingers along her face, brushing a chestnut tendril from her temple as she opened her eyes. The anxiety gone from her body language she broke the silence first.
"If you wanted me to stop talking, you could've just asked."
"I thought I did." He leaned forward at the waist, placing a chaste kiss to her swollen lips. "I don't suppose you'll tell me your real name now?"
"If you keep kissing me like that, you're welcome to make up any name you wish," she replied dreamily. "Good night Ronald Weasley," she said warmly as she placed a finger across his lips. Before it could register that she, in fact, hadn't told him her given name, she vanished into through the portrait hole and was gone.
Ron really wanted to be angry about that. But he couldn't wipe the stupid grin off his face. He'd waited seventeen years for his first kiss, and from where he stood, it was not a moment too long.
***
"Harry? Where are we going?" Hermione said as he clandestinely lead her through the castle.
"You'll see," Harry said quietly as he stopped and peered around a corner. Apparently not seeing any obstacles in his path, he tugged her along the hallway and down another short staircase until they were on Hogwarts ground floor. Hermione might not have known their destination, but she had little misconception as to their purpose. Harry stopped along the corridor and opened a doorway, pulling her inside with a mischievous grin.
Hermione gasped as she looked around the room. She'd heard the students rave about it, but had never actually stepped foot inside. She'd been thoroughly impressed with the enchantments cast upon the Great Hall ceiling, but even the glowing description in "Hogwarts: A History," couldn't compare to this. It almost made her wish she hadn't dropped divination…almost.
"Harry, this is beautiful," she whispered almost reverently.
"Isn't it?" he replied, staring at the ceiling.
"But, won't we get caught?" Hermione asked, peering through the landscape that existed within the room.
"No. I saw Hagrid the other day and he mentioned that he and Firenze would be away this week." Hermione looked at him quizzically. "I don't know," Harry answered her expression, "something to do with improving wizarding relations with Centaurs."
"Oh," she said, satisfied with the response.
"So," Harry said, slowly turning her body - and her attention - back to him. He pulled his wand from his back pocket and whispered, "colloportus." Hermione heard the squelch of a door locking behind her and smiled in spite of herself.
It was a bit disconcerting to her. This was her idea. There was not much room for interpretation when she'd asked him to come inside. She fully appreciated the fact he'd managed to take her inside where it was warm, yet still have her believe they were under the star bedecked sky. Now that they were here, alone, with little chance of being caught in a compromising position, she found herself nearly shaking with insecurity.
"Harry?" her voice shook. She couldn't raise her eyes to his. "Are we really sure about this?"
It comforted her to hear a reflective uncertainty in his voice. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to, Hermione."
"I think that's why I'm scared," she replied quietly. "I do want to."
Harry shifted his stance, most likely shocked by her admission. She waited an eternity for some verbal response to what she'd said - the entire time fighting the growing discomfort in her chest that Harry might not feel the same way. Happily, that feeling didn't last. He slowly raised his own trembling fingers to the clasp of his cloak, unhooked it, and slid the fabric from her shoulders. He moved so slowly she didn't see him lean in, so much as felt his presence grow nearer. Just before he touched his lips to hers he replied, "so do I."
Those three words were the catalyst to a complete loss of logic for Hermione. Her head screamed the same arguments she'd listened (and adhered) to for months.
You're too young for this. You're not even married. What would your father say? What if your mother is up there watching this right now? What if you get pregnant? What if this ruins everything between you? What if you're not good at this?
Just as it had been for months, Hermione heard the argument in her head, but for the first time in her conscious memory she completely ignored her own logic. She didn't care. She was driven by some other force she didn't understand, nor did she question. She only cared about one thing; the raven-haired man standing before her, kissing her as desperately as if his life depended on it. She returned the favor in kind.
Hermione snaked her arms around Harry as easily as he did with her. They stood in the middle of a conjured forest, the dim starlight illuminating the room, and felt he rustle of a warm breeze through the foliage as they clung to each other as a drowning man would to a life raft. His hands began sliding up and down her exposed back, leaving a fiery trail of gooseflesh as he went. Her hands played with the soft brushed cotton of his shirt, relishing the sensation her hands found as they ran over the taut muscles hidden beneath.
As his hands brushed lazily along her sides, he dropped one to the small of her back, allowing it to linger as he fingered the zipper of her dress contemplatively. The mere anticipation of what he was considering loosed a thousand butterflies in her stomach that fluttered violently with each twitch of his hand.
Their breathing hastened. Harry pinched the zipper between his fingers and an involuntary squeak escaped Hermione's throat as he continued to devour her. Whether he took her reaction as an invitation she'd never know, but seconds later she felt the cool air of the divination classroom brushing along her backside as Harry slowly slid the zipper down, exposing her to the elements and allowing his searing hot hand unrestricted access to her buttocks.
He slid a hand cautiously between her knickers and buttocks, stopping quickly as Hermione shifted her stance. Breathless, she pulled her lips away from his, drinking in the emerald gaze that pierced her soul. "We don't have to do this," he whispered.
She didn't feel the need to answer him directly. She cast her eyes downward to where her hands lie benignly on his chest. With one fleeting glance toward him she began to unbutton his shirt. One by one, she slowly worked each button free, trailing her fingernails lightly along his chest as she spread his shirt apart. His breath rattled in his chest as she tugged the shirt tail from his trousers and finished the job.
She couldn't stop looking at him as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Although never a true fan, she'd always admired the tight fitting quality of the Quidditch jumpers, now - with his bare chest before her - she fully understood why. Compulsion drove her as her hands played along his smooth skin. She hesitantly leaned in, wrapping her mouth around his left nipple and relishing in the hand that grabbed her roughly in response. Admittedly, she had no idea what she was doing, but he didn't seem to be arguing the point.
He quickly drew his hands along her back. Latching his thumbs under the simple straps of her gown he pulled them to the side and stepped back. Hermione, still suckling at his chest, suddenly realized his intentions and met his eyes. In silent assent, she dropped her arms to her sides and closed her eyes. Harry's hands left a trail of fire along her upper arms as he slowly slid her gown to her waist, eventually letting it cascade down her body, pooling at her feet.
This was entirely new for Hermione and she wasn't sure how to deal with it. For the first time in her life she was standing before a member of the opposite sex essentially naked. All that remained of her clothing was a simple pair of black knickers. Her insecurity quickly casting doubt over her actions, she felt his finger pull at her chin, forcing her face upward toward his. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and saw his staring back. "You're beautiful," his voice croaked.
In part to thank him, and in part to assuage her self-doubt, she slid her arms around his neck and pressed herself along the length of his shuddering body. Her skin, cooled from the air of the classroom, reignited as it connected with the piercing warmth of Harry's chest. Enraptured by the contact, she moved along his chest; their skin slid over each other like rainwater over window glass. It didn't take her long to realize he might be feeling a bit insecure as well; she could feel his arousal fighting against his trousers. His lips left hers as he trailed them along the throbbing column of her neck, gently suckling each inch of it to her shoulder. Again, her voice was hijacked by the sensations he was eliciting and she moaned loudly enough to surprise herself.
Not only could she hear Harry's reaction to her pleasure, she could feel it pressing ever more firmly against her hip. Their lips met again with heated passion as their arms, and hands began roaming indiscriminately over each other. Harry broke contact with her mouth in order to bend down and scoop her from the floor. With a few unsteady steps he walked to a soft patch of mossy grass and dropped - a bit too hastily - to his knees.
"Sorry," he chuckled into her mouth as he kissed her lightly.
"It's okay," she smiled, as he lay her back against the soft grass.
"I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand," he clarified quietly.
Hermione merely smiled imagining his knees must've been as unsteady as hers and gathered the courage to take the next step. She'd nearly done it before he lifted her from the floor, but the brief conversation seemed to reengage the logical part of her mind that she'd specifically turned off. She was about to register any one of those annoying concerns that were continuing to chant in her mind when Harry leaned over her and drew her erect nipple into his mouth.
"Oh," she gasped, totally unprepared for the heat that dashed through her veins from his point of contact. A violent tingling erupted in her stomach and radiated through her body, causing her to throb in places she'd never given much attention. Most interestingly, was the effect that had on her courage. She ran her hands through his hair as he sucked determinedly on her breast. The sensation in her lower body continued to build. Her stomach fluttered and her knickers became noticeably moist - something she wasn't quite expecting, but she couldn't hold onto a thought long enough to feel embarrassed.
Without giving her actions a second thought, she ran her hand along his bare chest and stopped at his waistband. She tugged at his belt, attempting to determine how to get it off with one hand when he made her plight easier. He leaned up, covering her hand with his and popped it loose effortlessly. Taking both hands she unbuttoned the fly and slid her one inside his trousers. She almost wished she hadn't.
Harry moaned audibly and stopped what he was doing, his eyes drooping closed as his breath hitched in his throat. Something about the look on his face was incredibly inspiring to Hermione. Harry had proven himself to be a notably powerful wizard. He'd defeated Voldemort more times than she cared to think about, and yet, in this moment the power was hers. She had yet to cast a spell, but Harry Potter was thoroughly enchanted.
That was the thought that gave her the courage to do what she never would've fathomed a few days before. She drew his clothing slowly down his legs and wrapped her delicate hand around him, deliberately exploring the full measure of his arousal; and then her nervousness returned ten-fold.
As she stroked him lightly, relishing in the velveteen softness of him, he tore his mouth from hers, resting his forehead against her chest and drawing great rasping breaths. He grew harder in her hand and the physics of the situation began to concern her. Just as her logical side crashed through her racing endorphins, she felt his hand slide along her stomach - its destination was clear.
Out of pure reflex, Hermione drew her legs together, only to have Harry's right hand slip between her thighs and part them again as he pushed off her knickers. His hand lingered over her. She could feel its heat caress the delicate skin underneath. She drew no breath as the anticipation of his intent built within her. He lifted his head from her chest, capturing her mouth with his and slid a finger into her.
The breath Hermione had neglected to draw, came rushing in at once as she gasped for air. Her hand, while momentarily frozen with her own pleasure quickly returned to its task. Their free hands wrapped themselves around each other, attempting to fuse their bodies together, while the other hands stroked, and glided along each other, pressing harder and deeper as their mutual arousal filled the room with a nearly tangible passion.
Hermione had no idea what she was doing, or what she was feeling. She understood the academics of an orgasm, but had no personal experience to know if she was having one. All she knew was that she never wanted him to stop. He plunged another finger into her, dragging his knuckles over a place that made Hermione's legs quiver shamelessly. He'd obviously noticed it, as she did, the first time it happened, and he now seemed rather determined to find exactly the spot that elicited the reaction.
Hermione responded similarly. Having become familiar with him she adjusted her grip and slid her palm along his length, allowing the little fluid that escaped him to ease her way. As he worked to find the spot he'd happened upon earlier, she began pumping her hand along him mercilessly. She lost the ability to kiss him as her mouth fell open. The butterflies in her stomach had morphed into hippogriffs. A blazing fire was building with alarming speed, shooting heated fireworks through her body. Having found the spot he'd been looking for, her legs began to twitch again. The tension was building within her stronger and greater, harder and faster, until her eyes slipped from focus and her body exploded with a foreign sensation that allowed her to hear her own screams without realizing she'd voiced them.
"Oh God, Harry," she gasped as every cell in her body resonated with electricity. Slowly coming to realize what she'd experienced, it became wholly evident to her that Harry was not quite through. She stopped his hand, still working between her thighs and planted a hand on his chest, pushing him over onto his back.
She was completely out of control. She couldn't stop herself. Her lips were everywhere. She kissed him along his neck, across his chest, she dragged her tongue along the light train toward his navel. Her hands ran along his sides, his shoulders, and between his thighs as she left one to cup him gently. His eyes rolled back in his head, only spurring her onward.
She ran her hands along his inner thighs, wrapping her hand around him again. Leaning forward, she captured his lips with her own and began kneading him. He tossed his head to the side, breaking their kiss and hissed. She was compelled to see more in his expression, hear more from his rasping voice. She could feel him twitching beneath her hand and began pumping him slowly.
"Bloody hell," he gasped. Hermione's face lit up with a satisfied smile as her hand worked more quickly. She slid it over him faster and faster, gripping him harder and harder as his face contorted and his mouth fell open in a silent scream.
"Hermione," he croaked, putting a hand over hers in a vain attempt to get her to stop.
"No," she said refusing his request. She wanted him to feel the way he had made her feel. She wanted to be the one to make him feel that way. She didn't care about anything other than hearing that incredibly deep voice say her name again and again. She quickened the pace again, his hand falling helplessly to the grassy floor.
"Yes," he moaned, his meaning clearly different from the quasi-conversation they'd just had. She continued her endeavor and with a few more strokes, his back arched from the floor as he toppled over the edge she'd drawn him to so meticulously.
With a contented smile, she snuggled into his side, his arms wrapping around her instantly. He peppered her with soft kisses as his breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Sorry about that," Harry whispered, the redness evident in his cheeks.
Hermione propped herself on her elbow and looked at the sight of him. Like her, sweat glistened along his hairline and his trademark raven hair was even more unruly than usual. His eyes were half-closed and although he'd voiced an apology she couldn't help but notice he looked far from sorry. "I thought that's what we came here for," she said wryly.
He turned his head and looked at her appraisingly. "You're not disappointed that we…you know." He grappled for the words to describe what they didn't do.
"No," she answered unequivocally. "One thing at a time, Harry," she said, absently tracing a fingernail along his jawline.
"Good," Harry replied, catching her hand and kissing her fingers softly. "Besides, I have better plans for that…and they don't involve the clandestine use of an empty classroom."
"Do you?" she said raising an eyebrow scandalously. He mumbled an affirmative response as his eyes drifted closed. His smile reflected on her own face as she continued to study his features. She felt like she'd known him her whole life, yet something about this moment cast him in a new light. Checking briefly to ensure his eyes were closed, she let hers drift upward. Out of respect for his insecurity, and not to compound the attention it already drew, she'd never given his scar much more than a cursory look. It was part of the face she'd grown to love, but something about this night - and the feelings they'd expressed for each other - the weight of its meaning suddenly crashed into her as an ocean wave along the shore. As she stared at the lightning bolt shape, a life not made passed before her eyes. She neither spoke nor breathed. Harry's eyes remained closed as she continued her secretive inspection, but it quickly became clear that he knew what she was doing.
She felt his hand upon hers. His smile dissolved as he wrapped his hand around hers and pulled it to his forehead. Using his fingers as a guide, he allowed hers to trace his scar from hairline to eyebrow. It wasn't until after she'd followed its path several times that she realized his eyes were open, and locked on hers. He pulled her hand down, stopping to kiss the palm as it passed his lips; then drew their joined hands to her face wiping away a tear she'd not even realized was meandering down her cheek.
"Hermione," he said hoarsely. "No matter what happens, I need you to understand one thing." He waited for her response.
"What's that?" she squeaked.
"He can't take 'us' away, even if he takes me."
She felt a pit in her stomach open as he gave life to the boggart that lived hidden within her. Another tear escaped her eye as she searched for the words that would erase his fate and make them both "normal" teenagers.
Harry came closer to finding those words than she did.
"I love you, Hermione."
Wrapping protective arms around her, she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, and mumbled the only words she could speak without hesitation.
"I love you too."