And Always- a HP fic

[1lostone]

Title: And Always
Author: 1lostone
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Warnings: EWE, Angst.. boy parts going into girl parts
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dreams aren't always what they seem
A/N: Written for Jen... she knows why. I loves ya bb. This is a mix of canon events and movie events because it's pretty damn obvious that Yates ships these two like FedEx. Thanks to jademac2442 for being so fucking awesome. Also, this is the second first HP that I've ever deleted written because it was so terrible , although I feel like I've been in the fandom since I was a zygote. Ty to jademac2442 for the quick beta. Concrit and feedback is encouraged and adored.

Read on FF.net or AO3.

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The metal of the snitch scrapes against his chapped and bleeding lips as he brings it from his mouth. Even the bitter taste of his own blood connects him, grounds him for this thing that he is about to do. He wants to cry but is too afraid that if he starts, he won't be able to stop. He doesn't want Riddle to see him weak or afraid, even though he is both. Harry's fingers tremble as he opens the snitch, opening his eyes to see the Resurrection stone, cracked from where the Horcrux was released, floating in front of him. He feels like he's in a dream as he slowly stretches out his arm to take it.

His heart beats. Once. Once more. Blood flows through his veins. He can smell the rotten-sweet smell of the forest foliage beneath his feet, smell his own rank sweat. For a second he feels the phantom brush of curls against his cheek, is overwhelmed by the scent of her shampoo - vanilla and jasmine- feels Hermione's arms as she clutches him. She had been crying, and her tears felt hot against the skin of his neck.

Harry hears himself make a low sound in the back of his throat and forces himself to push that away. Somehow it seems fitting that the last thing he knows he'll feel for Ron is the bright spark of jealousy, the unwavering absolute knowledge that he will take care of her, that they will have each other, that they will be able to finish this once he's gone.

Gone.

Harry is disgusted by the way his lips tremble once before he presses them together. This is stupid. He already made his decision. And really, it wasn't much of a decision, truth be told. Hearing Dumbledore and Snape...

Fuck. Just take the damn Stone.

He took the damn Stone.

Harry opens his eyes and sees his mother standing in front of him. After the violence of Snape's memory, after seeing her blocking his crib with her body, it is a physical shock. Harry's knees tremble. It strikes him then that she looks oddly like Ginny. He reaches out and almost expects her hand to be warm against his, but as with so many other things in his life, it's not real.

"I... I never meant for any of you to die for me." He is ashamed. He feels that it is beyond unfair that these amazing people should have died for him only for Harry to turn around and ... what had Snape said? A pig to slaughter? That sounded about right. His throat is tight and it hurts to speak. Harry wants to touch them all, Sirius and Remus, his dad and mum.

His mum is proud of him. His dad stands a little apart, but Harry can see the fierce pride in his eyes. A familiar shape glints in the reflection of James's glasses and Harry feels his heartbeat which had until this point been almost a surreal; a throbbing accompaniment to the strangely silent forest simply stop.

No!

No, it can't be...

"Hi, Harry."

He can't breathe. He wants to curl up in a ball. He wants death; wants to cry and scream and curse everything around him. He wants to yank her lithe body to his own and hold her, and understands only now how dangerous the Resurrection stone was for Cadumus Peverell.

"Hermione." Harry's voice is broken, sounding as though he'd dragged it out over broken glass. "No, Hermione..."

She nods, holding her head up. Harry can see tears in her brown eyes and stumbles over to her, tripping blindly over a tree root and falling to his knees, the Stone glinting darkly as it flies from his sweaty grip...

Harry woke with a scream.

The duvet was tangled around his sweaty body, and for a second, Harry was still back there in the forest, smelling the rotten underbrush; hearing the oppressive silence, broken only by his beating heart. He blindly grabbed for his jeans and an old t-shirt, dressing quickly in the dark. There was a sliver of light shining through the small space between the crack of the door and the door frame and he lurched towards it, grateful for the light.

It had only been two weeks since he'd died. His dream was utter bollocks of course. Hermione wasn't dead. Harry pushed open the door, shivering a little as the cooler air of the hall hit his sweaty body. He took a few steps down the hall on the second landing; wide awake and wanting to see if anyone else was up. His fingers trailed across the wooden baseboard, recently cleaned and shining from oil, the strong reek of wood polish sharp in his nose; jarring after the remembered scent of the Forest. Kreacher had been amazing, cleaning the house within an inch of its life. Harry heard the old floor creak and he froze, not wanting his nocturnal ramblings to wake anyone else up. So far, he'd managed to hide his insomnia from his overly protective friends.

There was a moan, and a giggle, and Harry winced. Ron's room. This meant that... fuck. Harry felt his throat tighten again, and for a second he was back in the forest, his heart bleeding as he heard her voice. He shook his head. No. No point in that. Better get used to not reacting to Ron and Hermione being together. He was happy... happy! that they'd finally quit dancing around each other.

Bullshit.

Harry heard another low moan and cursed under his breath, walking away from Ron's room as fast as he could, careful to avoid the creaking boards in the ancient house. He was happy. Or... he would be in time. As soon as he could stop hearing what a moaning Hermione sounded like.

Harry walked down the staircase, yawning. He highly doubted that anyone would be up. A quick Tempus confirmed the fact that it was after four. Maybe some pumpkin juice and one of Molly's scones would do the trick. Decision made, Harry walked down the other staircase towards the kitchen.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped, whirling, his wand pointed at the shadows before he actually thought much about it.

"Whoa, there Harry. It's just me." Luna's smile was bright in the semi-darkness. "I do hope the Night-howling Kettlebargs aren't keeping you awake. They tend to do that."

"No. Just going down for a snack. Join me?"

"Hm. Okay." She sounded completely unconcerned. Her bright fuchsia nightgown made Harry look carefully away from her, unfocusing his eyes so that he wouldn't go completely blind. It was bloody weird not having all the adults around. What had started out as just Harry, had quickly become Harry, and Ron and Hermione, then Ginny, Neville, Luna and Dean. Grimmauld place had never been so full of life- of people celebrating their happiness and relief that everything was, at last, over. Harry had even seen Cho, Seamus, and for some highly inexplicable reason Malfoy had popped in with Hannah Abbot, a fact that absolutely defied rational thought. The "adults," Molly and Arthur, Hagrid, Fred, Shacklebolt and McGonagall had all popped in at one time or another, but had all tacitly avoided Grimmauld Place over the weekends. Maybe they were acknowledging that Harry could finally take care of himself. Maybe they were trying to respect his need for privacy. Maybe they were afraid of what they'd see. Hell, someone had to have left that supply of the contraceptive potion.

Malfoy, probably.

Luna and Harry turned the last corner and stepped into the kitchen. There was a feminine squeak and the rustle of fabric, and Harry couldn't help but to roll his eyes. "Am I going to have to separate you two with a hose?"

Dean got the joke, although Ginny was too busy blushing to get the Muggle reference. "Hi Harry." "Hi, mate." They both spoke in unison, causing Luna to cluck under her breath. Harry was kind of afraid to ask why. That was the thing with Luna... sometimes it was just better not to know.

Harry held up a hand. "No, don't get up. I might have roomed with Dean for six years, but that doesn't mean that I want to see what's going on under you robes, Gin." Harry couldn't help but tease her. She shot him a wry grin back and Dean just ducked his head, kissing her lightly on her ear.

The amazing thing was that he wasn't even jealous. He had thought that he and Ginny were supposed to be together, that they'd have the white picket fence and the houseful of kids with his eyes and her hair, but the truth of the matter was, when things had calmed down enough for them to actually talk, and Ginny had finally told him about her feelings for Dean... Harry hadn't really been all that fussed. He had hugged her, and kissed her once on her little upturned nose, but they had both known that they would always be better friends than ... well. Anything else.

Sometimes, Harry thought that crazy Trelawney bint had prophesied that he would die a virgin. Harry walked over to the sideboard and peeked under the covered dish. There was some casserole-type thing, and what looked like bread pudding leftover. They had kept meal-times informal, knowing that someone was always going to be popping in. Simple warming and cooling charms had kept everything ready for whoever wanted a little bite to eat. Luna was still humming tunelessly behind him, pouring herself some Butterbeer.

"So, Harry. I am sorry that the front garden seems a bit... occupied. We could go there if it wasn't covered in reporters and well-wishers. Shame that Hermione broke the Fidelius, isn't it?"

Harry felt his lips turning down in a frown as he flicked his wand, sending his snack following behind him as he left the kitchen and climbed the first set of stairs. "She couldn't help it!" Luna's large eyes blinked at him, looking mildly baffled. She took a sip of her Butterbeer and Harry had to tramp down the bolt of irritation at her for the slight reproach when she spoke of Hermione's mistake.

"I did not imply that she could. Are you going to the library, Harry?"

"Er. Yeah. Sorry, Luna. I think the lack of sleep is getting to me. Yes, the library should be empty."

"Hmm. You have the most appalling habit of making assumptions. It's really quite unattractive." Luna adjusted the string of butterbeer caps that she wore as a necklace.

Harry had to grin a little. He rubbed his forehead, pinching his nose. "I know. I appreciate that you put up with me. Even with... everything."

Luna clucked again. "Harry, I'm more tired than I thought. I suspect that you will have a better chance at finding what you're looking for if I am not around."

"What I'm looking for?" Harry leaned back against the wooden railing, snagging his pudding as it began to float by.

"Yes, Harry. Good night." Luna yawned and leaned forward to kiss Harry's cheek. All at once Harry was swamped by a feeling of affection for the strange girl in his arms, and clung a little.

Luna seemed to understand and stroked the back of his neck, before sliding her hand down and giving his arse a little pat. "Now enough of that. Perhaps you'll find something to occupy your time. Libraries are funny places. Often you can be looking for one particular thing, searching and searching. Perhaps it's mis-shelved, or perhaps someone else has borrowed it. Then somehow you manage to find it right under your nose. Marvellous places, libraries."

"Well of course. You're a Ravenclaw. I think you were practically born in a library." Harry brought the bottle to his lips, and drank deeply, the sweet taste exploding on his tongue.

"Hmm. No, I was born in my parent's bed. Dreadfully messy. And now, I must go. Speaking of beds, Neville is waiting for me. He does rather love it when I wake him up with my lips around his cock. 'Night Harry!"

Harry found that one could not inhale butterbeer through one's nose, gape in shock, and laugh at the same time. Barmy cow. He did love her though. She out of all of his friends still remained mostly unchanged. Luna just walked serenely upstairs to the room she shared with Neville, humming tunelessly under her breath. Harry watched her go, and stood against the door of the library, waiting to get his composure back before opening the solid wooden door and slipping quietly into the dark room.

Kreacher had been hard at work here, too. Before, the books here had been slung haphazardly around the room, dust and debris so thick that it had rendered the white cloth-covered furniture almost unusable. Harry had told Kreacher to fill the place up, to go hog-wild if he so desired. Hermione had been horrified that Ron had wanted to destroy the Dark books immediately, and Harry been unable to resist the beseeching look in her warm brown eyes. Instead he had told Kreacher to work with Hermione to restore the room to its former glory.

Kreacher had not let him down. And, if it was a little pathetic that he thought of it as 'Hermione's Library,' well. That was his own business. Harry closed the door behind him with a small click, and waved his wand so that the food he'd brought floated over to a small table set far away from the empty shelves.

Hermione had definite opinions on eating in a library. It had been a compromise, one that Harry had insisted on. They hadn't quite had a chance to fill all the shelves with books, but had instead scoured the room and organized what had been usable onto its proper shelf. Harry moved forward with a soft step, and then frowned, noticing that someone had left a small lamp burning further in the room.

That was a Muggle thing. One that he probably wouldn't ever stop, despite the fact that he'd defeated the most powerful Dark Wizard in this generation. Harry's first instinct in a dark room was to reach for a light-switch, not his wand.

The only other person who did the same... was Hermione.

Which didn't make any sense. Maybe she and Ron had... started ...here? For a second Harry's stomach burned with jealousy. He could picture them on the small couch, the kissing and petting each other slowly turning needier until they had to break apart, moving up to their room. There had been no mistaking what had been going on up there. Harry cursed under his breath, pressing his hands over his eyes, his glasses digging into his face as though he could actually make the imagined memory stop if he just pushed hard enough.

He took a step to the left and froze, eyes comically wide, one foot raised as though getting ready to take another step. He was belatedly aware that his butterbeer had crashed to the thickly carpeted floor with a thud, the sweet drink glugging out onto the carpet.

She was fucking beautiful. Like his dream had shifted into an ethereal sort of reality. Her riot of curls was slightly tangled from where her head had pressed into the small settee, almost touching the floor as she slept. She was on her side, one hand flung up and over the armrest, the other curled sweetly under her cheek. The thin top left very little to Harry's imagination. The way that the lamplight was shining made it very clear that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her sleeping position had pushed her breasts together, one dark, pebbled nipple pressing against the thin blue fabric as she breathed. Harry had seen it before. It wasn't designed to be sexy. It looked like a something that the dreadlocked and flower-power set around Shoreditch would wear with the simple sleeves and embroidered flowers. But on Hermione- it... Merlin.

She shifted in her sleep and Harry was finally able to jerk his startled gaze away from her, feeling ashamed. He moved, shifting his feet slightly so that he took a step closer. Harry blinked, and really looked at her, at the swollen nose and spiky eyelashes, the slight darkening under her eyes and the tear-tracks on her cheeks.

Harry was flooded with a possessive sort of anger- fury at whoever made her cry herself to sleep causing his hands to shake for a second. He squatted down, wincing when his knees popped, slowly reaching out his hand to brush a stray curl off of her cheek.

Her skin was almost translucent. Harry remembered an overheard conversation between Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbot sometime in their fifth year. He had been coming back from one of the hideously uncomfortable "Remedial potions" lessons, wincing at the sharp jab of pain that always seemed to live in his right temple after Snape got done mucking about in his brain. Harry had not wanted to talk to anyone and hand ducked into an alcove to avoid the gossipy, unpleasant tone in their voices.

"-Honestly. I don't know why she can get away with being such a bitch. Just because she's best friends with Harry Potter doesn't mean that she can just... be such a... a ... cow."

"Maybe it's PMS."

"Maybe it's just the enormous stick she has shoved up her arse. If she could actually get a boyfriend, maybe she'd occasionally be in a better mood."

Harry had been infuriated, and not a little surprised at the fact that Hannah of all people could be so catty. Hermione wasn't a bitch. She just had certain expectations, and whenever anyone didn't live up to them she just could get kind of... vocal. Fortunately, the two had walked on by, not realizing that Harry had been there.

Now, he realized that his hand had frozen, the tops of his first two fingers brushing slightly against Hermione's cheek as he gently moved the stray hair.

Hermione moved again, a low sound in her throat. She shifted over onto her back, her face turning into the cushion and away from Harry's slight touch. The skirt she was wearing had shifted, tangling around her thighs and Harry pushed himself away from her violently enough that he would have cracked his head on the low table if he hadn't caught himself. Staring at her naked legs and soft-looking thighs was just wrong. Harry felt like some sort of pervert, intruding on a private, unguarded moment. He had just gotten up to leave when he heard it, a low, throaty whisper that caused his own body to tighten, even as his muscles froze in shock.

"Harry..."

Harry stumbled against the table again, causing it to thud loudly in the quiet room. He watched in horror as Hermione's face crinkled, her eyes scrunching up as she woke up, the loud noise jarring her out of her restless sleep. "Harry?" Her voice was still thick with sleep. Hermione blinked up at him, smiling for just a moment before her facial features arranged themselves into something more closed-off, the expression one that Harry couldn't quite read.

"Shit. Sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to wake you." Harry stood up and turned away as she stretched, but not before he saw the quick flash of naked thigh as she untwisted her skirt. His mouth was suddenly dry. He was uncomfortably aware that he was starting to get hard, and horribly embarrassed that she might see.

When they had been looking for Horcruxes together, they had both managed to respect each other's privacy. For the most part. Once, Harry had woken up from a nightmare with his cock painfully full, completely oblivious in the tight pyjamas he'd worn to bed. He had clung to Hermione with his heart beating, the strangely sexual but horrifying dream fading as she soothed his sweaty brow. He hadn't even realized how turned on he was until Hermione had shifted away from him, the mattress creaking and her face flooded with colour. Once, Harry had come up upon her bathing and had been so shocked at the wet, naked slope of her side, the quick peek of a curved breast before she dived back under water that he had babbled some sort of apology and had beat a quick retreat back to their tent. That night he had waited until she was asleep and had replayed the quick scene in his head, spitting into his hand and stroking himself off furiously, the bark of the tree he was hiding behind scraping his shoulder as Harry bit into his own arm to keep his cries muffled. He'd felt awful, disgusting and like a creep after he'd shot all over his stomach, and had spelled the mess away with a sigh, disgusted at himself. Hermione wasn't crying over Ron's desertion anymore, but it was obvious that she was deeply hurt by his words. This felt... wrong. Too furtive to be anything normal and Harry had sworn that he would never, ever fantasize about her again, knowing how hurt and disgusted she'd be if she knew that he'd wanked to the remembered view of her wet, soapy body.

Harry felt like that now, ashamed of his own reaction. He was afraid that he was going to have to leave Grimmauld place. He absolutely, positively refused to be the person that got in the way of Hermione and Ron's relationship. Three really was a crowd. Not that there was any chance of him getting in their way. Harry could never quite get the visual of those two kissing out of his head. But Harry didn't want to be the one who made things uncomfortable between the three of them.

Things were already strained enough.

"Sorry- I'll. I was just... I'll go. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine, Harry. I'm kind of glad you did, actually."

Harry went towards the table with his food, more for something to do than because he was truly hungry. A small, niggling worry had shoved itself in his head. He was missing something obvious here. Harry munched some cheese and chicken stuff, ignoring how it had congealed to the consistency of cardboard. "Mmhhmmhrr?" He asked, watching the familiar disgusted look across her face. All at once Harry had a strange flash of the eleven-year old Hermione, watching him eat at his first Welcoming Feast. Then he blinked and she was his Hermione again, watching him with that unreadable expression on her face.

"Yes. I wanted to ... talk to you."

Harry nodded and took the bread pudding over to the wide couch. With a flick of his wand and a mutter he lit the fire. Harry couldn't very well say, 'gee I couldn't help but notice that you were a little cold and really I get women's lib and all but please wear a bra or I'll be wanking myself raw in the foreseeable future' so it was just easier to light the fire.

Hermione sat down beside him, keeping an inch or so of space between their bodies. Harry chewed on his pudding somewhat mechanically, much too aware of the heat of her through his clothes. He jumped a little when she reached out and grabbed his hand, firelight painting her face into something that punched him in the gut every time he flicked his gaze over her face.

"Harry... Is something the matter?"

That made Harry feel even more terrible and perverse. Here she was worried about him, and all he could do was sit here and try not to imagine what her nipples would taste like.

"No." He spoke shortly, then winced and ran a hand through his already mussed hair. "Shit. Sorry, 'Mione. I'm just... tired."

"Having trouble sleeping?" Her thumb traced the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, and Harry tried not to shiver.

"Kind of. I'm really sorry to have woken you up though." Harry gently removed his hand, turning to face her. All at once he went cold. "What's wrong?" Harry heard his voice sharpen, grating against his dry throat like glass against sandpaper. It was obvious that Hermione was upset about something. In the firelight, the dried tear tracks on her face seemed to glitter. "Hermione?" He didn't even realize that he had reached out to trace them until she leaned against his hand.

"That's… part of what I wanted to talk to you about." She broke off; looking down at her lap for a second and Harry made himself lean over to give her a friendly hug. He'd perfected how to give a friendly, non-angst-ridden hug over the past year. He'd learned how to ignore the effect her scent had on him. She always smelled faintly of ink and roses, two things that Harry had never before thought were sexy. He must have misjudged how close they were, because for a second he felt the light brush of her lips against his neck. He jerked back as though burned, too much of a ponce to look at her, somehow afraid that if he did she would know how tight his jeans were and despise him.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry you had to hear that. I was having a … uh. A rather intense dream." Her face flushed again, and Harry's eyes widened a little. Intense. An intense dream… did that mean a sex dream?

"Er…"

"I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear about. I feel so selfish burdening you with this right now. But… we're friends, right?"

Harry felt the familiar tug in his heart. He forced a smile. Pathetic. He was so pathetic. "Of course, Hermione. Merlin knows you've listened to me enough. I'm not sure how good I'll be with advice though. You know, since I have the emotional range of a teaspoon." He grinned at the little joke, expecting her own smile. It completely floored him when her lip trembled, her beautiful brown eyes filling with tears. "Hermione… what? What's the matter?" Harry was slightly panicked. The last time she looked this distraught was when she had decided to obliviate her parents. "Is it your mum?"

"No… no, Harry. It's. It's Ron."

Harry's mind whirled. The thing that he had been missing clicked in his head. After he had his dream, he had stumbled out of his bedroom. Ron's bedroom had been occupied. Harry had clearly heard the squeak of bedsprings and the grunting moans of two people having sex. He'd been sick with jealousy that Ron and Hermione were so happy together, then disgusted at himself for being so fucking selfish.

But, Hermione wasn't upstairs.

Harry's eyes narrowed. In an instant he was up and at the door, his hand fumbling for the handle. He was too furious to stop the fine tremors that shook his body. Hermione had been in here, crying and Ron… Ron had been banging one of their stupid friends. Harry only dimly noticed that the lamp pop with a small flash. He didn't spare a thought for the favours he'd called in so that Grimmauld could be wired with Muggle electricity, or how his fury was affecting it. The fire in the fireplace flared once, roaring with a crackling snap of oxygen.

"No! Harry, wait. Wait, it's not what you're thinking."

"Oh yeah? What am I thinking, Hermione? That he's just allowed to make you miserable? That somehow that's just... okay? I'll…." Harry broke off, all at once frightened at the pure rage that ran through his body. He was afraid that he could really, honestly do something Unforgivable to Ron fucking Weasley.

He felt Hermione's hand on his forearm. Harry jerked his arm out of her light grasp, ignoring her slight wuff of shocked breath. His muscles felt hard, tense, as though ready to pound something through a wall. To date, the only two people who had infuriated him to this extent was Voldemort and Draco bloody Malfoy.

"Harry." He felt her small hands on his cheeks and frowned as she forced him to turn and look at her. It had always annoyed him that she was taller than he was. "It's not what you're thinking." Her hands slid softly down his neck, onto his shoulders. He could feel the heat from her hands through the thin t-shirt and knew he had to be gaping at her with the stupidest look on his face, but it was impossible to ignore the surge of adrenaline still causing his innate magic to swirl through the room. Hermione's hair had gone a tad bushier than normal from the currents of energy that Harry couldn't quite control. He was dimly aware that the drapes were moving. Her hands slid slowly down his arms, trying to calm him.

"But. But, Hermione. I… I heard them!" He saw her flinch and felt like a complete arse. He took a deep breath, grabbing her hands to stop her nervous petting.

"Ron and I aren't together." Hermione blurted, causing Harry to drop her hands as though holding a live wire. "We... well, I don't know if "broke up" is exactly the right terminology, but you don't need to be angry at him." She picked his hands back up and tugged him from where he'd been standing against the door, trembling just slightly as he tried to get his surprisingly hormonal emotions under control.

"I... I don't understand."

Amazingly, she smiled at him, the quick flash of her teeth shocking Harry into silence. "Of course not. You're the most Gryffindor Gryffindor that I've ever met, Harry. I can't have you going off and mauling poor Ronald for something that... was really more my fault than his."

Harry just raised his eyebrow, mumbling something about 'Malfoy' under his breath and was rewarded with her embarrassed blush. Her hauling off and slapping the smarmy git was really one of his more treasured moments.

"That's just my point. I can, you know, take care of myself. Although I do very much appreciate that you would do violence on my behalf, it's not exactly necessary." Harry felt her thumb brushing against the spot between his thumb and finger again and shifted slightly backwards, bracing his body against the wall. "I do need to tell you what I've done, Harry. And you.. you have to promise not to be upset. It was somewhat of a shock, but not really I suppose. I've always tried to be brutally honest with myself, but I do not want you to think that things have to change or that they will be peculiar or ..."

Harry had to check himself so that he wouldn't stop her babbling with a kiss. He watched as she turned, taking the few steps back to the settee. Harry sucked in some much needed air, horribly confused. If he lived to be two hundred years old, Harry didn't think he would ever understand women. Hermione seemed more concerned that Harry would somehow be cross with her, rather than the fact that Ron was currently fucking someone else into the mattress upstairs.

"Ronald and I were... we. Um. Okay, do you promise not to get upset? Harry, I must tell you this but I don't know if I can handle it if you..." She broke off, staring up at Harry's baffled face. "It's just that you and I have never been upset at each other. I don't know if I quite care for the idea."

Harry blinked, floored at the simple statement. He nodded, realizing that she was correct. During their third year, he and Hermione had travelled with the Time Turner. During their fourth year, they had become quite close while Ron fucked off to wherever, certain that Harry had been seeking the attention at the Tri-Wizard tournament. During their fifth year, it had been Hermione's unwavering faith in him that he could somehow teach their friends Defence Against the Dark Arts. It had been Hermione who had held him while he had shook to pieces, guilt and shame for Sirius' death keeping him from sleeping. Their sixth year, Harry had comforted her over Ron being a complete and utter twat. During some of his less prouder moments, Harry still remembered Ron's shocked face when Hermione had aimed the canaries at his face. Even when she's been furious at Harry's obsession with the Half-Blood prince, they had never really lost their friendship over it. They had always been together. This year... Merlin. Harry honestly didn't think that he would be here right now if not for the witch sitting in front of him, looking up and waiting for his reaction as she nervously chewed on her lip.

"I could never be mad at you Hermione." Perhaps a tad dramatic, but true, nonetheless. "You know that."

He watched the firelight on Hermione's face, watched her small smile. Her lip was slightly swollen from her teeth, and wet from the nervous swipe of her tongue. His erection, which had flagged with his sudden and compete fury, began to swell again. Harry shifted on the small settee, embarrassed.

"I don't exactly know how to say this. I hope that you'll allow me to explain."

"Hermione. Please just tell me."

"I... oh. Okay. You know how it's been. We've all gone a bit mad with.. well, with everything and all. After the battle, I was rather distraught to realize..." She trailed off and her small, pink mouth opened, only to quickly close. Her lips tightened, and Hermione sat there for a moment, eyes downcast. "Oh, dear. Well. This sounds appalling no matter how I phrase it." Harry heard her take another breath. "Well, Ronald and I were here, snogging on the couch. And I'm afraid that I called him.. someone else's name."

Harry felt his heart stop in his chest. He knew his eyes were impossibly wide behind his glasses. Hermione's face was beet red, and for one second a terrible, desperate hope caused something in Harry's chest to swell. He was afraid to ask whose name she had said. Harry didn't know if he was more worried that it was his name or that it wasn't his name. He swallowed hard, something dry in his throat clicking. "Oh."

"Yes, well it was rather distressing. But we did talk, and it was... quite nice. What it boiled down to was Ronald and I are much better friends than we would be as lovers."

At the word 'lovers', Harry had to shift again.

"He said that he understood. And that he had rather wished to do the same, almost right after we kissed." Hermione shrugged helplessly, her face strangely pale except for the two bright flags of color on her cheeks. "I imagine that it was quite a bit like you and Ginny. So many things seemed so .. right. And then they were terrible."

"Hermione? You're babbling."

Somehow, they had shifted on the settee so that they were turned into each other, knees touching.

"I.. I know. Harry?"

"Yeah?" He could feel the puff of the syllables against his face. When had they gotten so close?

But whatever she was going to say was lost when their lips met. Her hand was soft as it brushed lightly against the side of his neck to rest on his left shoulder. Harry thought his heart was going to stop. He felt Petrified. He couldn't react to the sudden light pressure of her lips on his. He felt her forehead knock against his glasses but still couldn't believe this was real, that Hermione was actually kissing him.

She pulled back, her face an almost painful-looking red, visible even in the flickering firelight. She looked horrified for a second, distraught that Harry seemed to just sit there like a stump, and that was what spurred Harry into action, reaching up one shaking hand and curling it into the riot of curls at the back of her neck, pulling her face to his.

Their lips met, chastely again. Harry's fingers tightened in her hair, her fingers clutched his shoulder, both grips at odds with the gentle, sweet brush of lips.

Harry felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest. His cock, which had already been half-hard a number of times tonight, jerked behind his jeans and he felt his abs jump as he tried to catalogue everything at once. Hermione made a soft sound, changing the angle of their kiss, and when her tongue flicked against his closed mouth, Harry couldn't help but clutch her to him, dragging her across his lap.

They kissed until they couldn't breathe, Harry trying to take control of the kiss, echoing her grip from earlier by holding the delicate bones of her cheeks in his two hands, licking into her mouth with single-minded determination. Hermione kept sucking on his tongue, curling hers around it, but when she bit at his lip he felt his cock jerk in his jeans and felt her shudder on top of him, felt the heat of her core when she brushed against his denim-covered cock and ripped his mouth away with a gasp.

"Hermione..." He pulled away for a moment, sucking in a shocked breath. "I... er... what?" Harry watched her lips curve up in a smile, the same familiar half-smirk she wore when she knew the answer to something that had baffled him.

He'd seen it a lot over the years.

"Ron had his hand up my skirt, on my thigh."

The non-sequitur made Harry's lips twist before he forced himself to try not to react, but not before his fingers tightened briefly on Hermione's hips. He tried tried to ignore the burn of jealousy in his stomach as she continued.

"It was horrible. My skin felt like it was crawling. I felt desperately like I was cheating, even though I'd never even kissed you before. But I'm stubborn. Stupid, really. I started imagining, Harry. Fantasizing that it was you touching me. Your mouth over mine. I," she broke off, face flaring again with colour. "I have a rather good imagination. And I don't even think that Ron was very surprised when I ... I gasped your name. I was horrified, and so bloody wrecked with guilt. I cried myself to sleep. Ron was... quite honest not all that fussed. He just muttered something about Lavender and took off." Hermione bumped her hips again and Harry swallowed hard. "Harry you ... you protected me."

"As much as you protected me."

He watched her tongue slide across her bottom lip.

"You were my most loyal and best friend. Almost like a big brother. Until... you weren't. " She leaned forward again, kissing him, pressing Harry back into the squashy chintz cushion, her hands on his shoulders. "I thought I ... noticed you staring at me sometimes, Harry." Her whisper against his neck, the small flick of her tongue as she tasted his skin caused Harry's eyes to roll back in his head. His cock ached, and they had hardly done anything. He tilted her face up so that he could kiss her again, shuddering when her nipples came into contact with his chest through their shirts.

He brought his hands to her breasts, and it was Hermione's turn to shudder at his touch. Her eyes seemed huge in her face as she stared at him. "Hermione." But Harry didn't know what to say. What could he say? He'd wanted her for ... well, forever. He'd struggled to put her in the don't look, and definitely don't touch category. He shaped the small mounds with his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the peaks, watching as her breath caught. "Merlin, let me touch you. You have no idea how much I've wanted to."

Her grin caused Harry to smile. He felt her small hands on the bulge of his dick and couldn't help the buck his hips gave when she touched him through the fabric. "Oh. I do have some idea." Harry felt like an idiot, shocked stupid by the first touch of a hand that wasn't his own. He grabbed Hermione's slender wrist, afraid he'd shoot in his trousers if she didn't let go.

Instead, in a blink of an eye, she was kneeling on the carpet, staring up at him with an absolutely wicked smile on her face. "Harry..."

"N-n-no. I'll come if you touch me." Harry's cheeks turned bright red, embarrassed to be this close just from having Hermione on his lap.

"That's the idea, isn't it?" He felt her hands at his snap and zip and had to shut his eyes at the intent look on her face as his cock all but sprung out of his jeans, red and wet at the tip. He felt something soft against the heated column of flesh and froze, determined not to move, afraid that if he did anything he would spurt right there. He could picture Hermione looking up at him, face striped white from his come and had to bite his lip, forcing the image of his aunt and uncle having sex to bring him back from the edge.

Hermione's breath was soft against him, and Harry cried out, then quickly stuffed the side of his palm in his mouth to keep himself quiet. at the way she slowly slid her lips over the head of his cock. Harry couldn't process everything he was feeling as she worked her mouth over him, sliding her tongue and lips all over the place, sucking gently, then not so gently. Petrified that he would come in about two second. Overwhelmed that Hermione somehow wanted him, afraid that this was another dream. Jealous that she had obviously done this before. Hermione's mouth was confident, her small hand tight around the base of his cock as she worked him over. Harry didn't know if he was allowed to move, but it was hard to sit still. He wanted to watch his dick disappear behind those stretched lips, wanted to thrust up into her mouth.

At the thought he felt his balls begin to tighten, felt the pressure at the base of his spine. Her ripped his hand from his mouth. "Fuck. Fuck... Hermione I'm...Hermione!" Then he could only shudder as light exploded behind his eyes and through his dick, deep into Hermione's throat. He was dimly aware that he had thrust up, that she had gagged a little as she began to swallow around his cock. Then it was over and she was kissing the wet head softly, her face bright red, both shy and proud of herself.

It took Harry a few minutes to recover enough to do something else but gape stupidly down at her, then with a burst of movement he had her stretched out on the floor on her back in front of the fire, kissing her thoroughly. There was an odd taste in her mouth, and Harry shivered when he realized that it was him he was tasting. "Fucking hell, Hermione. You.."

She laughed and Harry didn't know what to do first. He pushed up the blue shirt, watching as she took it off the rest of the way. Her nipples were a dark pink, and pebbled to hard peaks in the cool air of the room. Harry licked at them, rubbing slightly in the way he thought she would like, tugging with his lips. He watched as she sighed, her hands coming to tighten in his hair as he moved from one breast to the other, listening to her breathing become thicker, until she was almost panting.

He moved slowly down her torso, kissing here and there biting lightly at her stomach until she gasped. Harry nudged his cheek against the soft skin of her belly, his own cock beginning to twitch again as he realized that he could smell her arousal, that every time she shifted her hips or legs, it was because she was turned on.

"Oh, god I've dreamed of this. Let me taste you, Hermione." He looked up the line of her body to see her hesitant nod, and something visceral flared in him when he realized that no one had ever touched her like this before. With shaking hands he undid the zip at her side and tugged off her skirt. Her legs were beautiful, long and muscled. He sat back a little to touch her, a small wiggle of doubt manifesting itself. He'd never done this before. Thanks to stealing Dudley's magazines, and a few solemnly-sworn-to-silence conversations from Seamus in Gryffindor Tower, Harry had a decent idea of how this worked, but he also didn't want to look stupid. He made himself comfortable, kissing her thighs and hips, feeling lightheaded from the scent of her need. He pressed his chin against the covered mound. Hermione moaned, biting her lip and Harry pulled away slightly to lap at the soaked white cotton, tasting her through the fabric. Harry hooked his thumbs over the waistband of the tiny pair of panties, pulling them down and off Hermione's legs.

"Harry-" Her protest caught low in her throat as he pulled her legs open, staring wide-eyed down at her. Hermione brought her hands down to cover the dark brown curls at her center, and Harry couldn't help the purely male grin of satisfaction as he watched the blush rise from her breasts, up her neck and bloom in her cheeks.

"It's my turn. You don't know how much I've wanted this, Hermione. I used to try to make myself stop, for Ron. Because I can't fuck that up. But oh I would dream, Hermione. I'd wake up hard and have to ... fuck. You just don't know how much I want to taste you."

She surged up to kiss him, and Harry felt grateful that she had finished him off first, otherwise he would have come in his jeans at how hard they kissed, desperate, with Hermione almost biting at Harry's lips. He reached down to touch her, parting the folds of skin with this finger and she broke off the kiss, gasping into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He gently pushed her back to the floor and positioned himself.

Harry ghosted his lips over the patch of curls, breathing humidly over her pubis before moving down a little, wincing at the bite of his zipper against his dick as it was squeezed against the unyeilding floor. He parted her lips with his thumbs, inhaled the musky, sharp scent and licked at her pussy. Hermione made a sound that would have sounded more at home in Crookshanks throat, and it wasn't long before her thighs were spread wide for Harry's delving tongue, her breathy cries splitting the air.

For Harry's part he loved it. Her clit was hard, peeking out from its hood as though begging to be tongued and sucked. His face was drenched with her juices, and he could not get enough of how her throaty voice cracked and broke, demanded and pleaded for more Harry, more yes oh more.

When he slid two fingers inside of her, he had to press his face against her thigh, moving his head so quickly that his glasses slipped off. She was so incredibly tight, so slick that her pussy gripped his two fingers like a glove, the tiny, delicate muscles fluttering at his intrusion. Harry explored, moving in and out and stroking the walls with his fingers while he tongued at her clit, pulling on it with his lips. When he sucked on it, Hermione bucked so hard he was afraid he'd hurt her, her wail going directly to his cock as she shuddered, coming because of his mouth and fingers. She was so wet that when he finally pulled out his fingers, a small gush of fluid followed, dripping down from her pussy. Without thinking, Harry followed it with his tongue, ignoring her gasp as he lapped up the salty sweetness, shocking Hermione into silence when he tongued over her tiny puckered hole. Harry didn't miss the way her body clenched over nothing at the sensation and smirked, moving back up to lap at her swollen, red clit.

She finally pulled him up by the hair to kiss him, shyly tasting herself on his mouth as he had done with her.

"You're beautiful."

She blushed at his words, as he knew she would. It amazed him how someone so absolutely brilliant could still blush at a compliment. Harry slid up her body, turning so that he could stroke his hand down her back, over her perfect little ass, and back up, cupping her head in his hand.

"I can't believe I'm here. That you're here, with me."

She pinched his nipple and he squeaked, trying to ignore the way his cock jerked. He wasn't sure if their activities were done for the evening, or what. It seemed kind of crass to ask if he was still going to get to fuck her. He sat up and grabbed his wand, sending the drinks over to them with a murmured word. Harry cracked his back, wincing at the sound and bent, sitting up so that his back was against the couch.

Hermione gave him an odd look, but crossed her legs, sitting besides him as she had done a million times before. Granted, the fact that she was still naked was a bit different, but Harry reflected that he overall liked the effect. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she bit her lip, brow furrowed as she thought. Long experience with Hermione-watching taught Harry that patience was a virtue. It was almost impossible for Hermione to keep quiet on something that was bothering her.

"You know, Harry. I.. I don't want you to think that I .. expect anything. I know that you have a lot of attention on you right now, and I'm sure there are a lot of very beautiful witches who want..."

"Hermione."

"... and I won't be all clingy and pathetic. I promise. Just..."

"Hermione." Harry couldn't help the little smirk. She was completely adorable. He wasn't, however, stupid enough to tell her that. He liked his balls where they were, thanks.

"... er. Yes? Yes, Harry?"

"I love you."

Her eyes widened, lips parting on a small gasp.

"You silly cow." He kissed her slack lips. "How could-" Another kiss. "You not-" Another kiss, this time on her nose. "Know that I am completely." Kiss on one corner of her eyelid. "Utterly." He licked at the tear that tracked down the left side of her face. "Insane for you. You're brilliant and beautiful and...Jesus, Hermione. I love you so fucking much."

Her grin was bright and made his heart ache. He cupped her face and kissed her again, slowly delving into her mouth as though it were their first kiss. Hermione climbed onto his lap again and Harry groaned, pulling away from her abruptly. His hands tightened on her lower spine, cupping each cheek tightly for a moment, before forcing himself to hang onto her hips.

Hermione bent to whisper in his ear. "I'm not a virgin."

Harry couldn't help the way his hands tightened on her hips. He slid his fingers down and into her, thrusting deep inside her wet heat. She gasped, rocking on his hand. He could feel the jealousy twisting in his stomach as he worked her, staring into her eyes from only inches away.

"Oh! H-h-harry. I wish that I was. I shouldn't have been so darn curious and waited for someone that I .. that I'm in love with. For you, Harry. Because I know that you must be. Ginny would have told me otherwise. And I would have found a way to hex her, despite the fact that you weren't mine."

"That obvious, was I?" Harry muttered. He twisted his fingers up, spreading them a little.

"Oh, god. No. No, Harry. You are... ahh...!"

She went up on her knees, to undo his zip again. There was just a quick second, a nudge and a tight grip, then he was jerking his fingers out of her, painting her lips with her own juices as she slid down onto his cock. It was Harry's turn to cry out. It was indescribable. Harry could feel how tight she was, how slick. He braced his feet on the floor for leverage as he thrust up into her. She tugged at his shirt, kissing him and whispering how much she loved him, brushing her nipples against his hard chest with little shivers of sensation. Harry loved her on top of him, and realized he was whispering back, telling her how amazing, how beautiful she was, babbled but deeply serious nonsense that he couldn't seem to stop saying.

They found a rhythm, her rocking down, him thrusting up, holding onto her back as he bent to lick her nipples, to bite at the corner of her collarbone, lapping at the sweat on her body. He felt himself close and brought his hand down a little desperately, rubbing over her clit. She was so wet that he kept sliding off the small bump of nerves, causing her to grunt and thrust down harder onto his cock.

When she came, her whole body froze. Her pussy clamped tightly onto his cock, causing him to collapse down onto the floor as he began to spurt inside of her, weakly fucking up through his second orgasm of the night. She was so sensitive that she jerked away from his hand, collapsing down on his chest with a muttered, fuck that caused Harry to grin down at her, completely charmed. They were plenty warm from the fire, but Harry found that he wanted to keep holding her on top of him, trailing his fingers down her back and back up, sliding through her riot of curls and back down; an endless circuit.

Much, much later, when Luna checked in on them, she didn't bother to hide the smug smile that quirked her lips. Harry and Hermione were curled together, holding hands as though they couldn't even bear to let go of each other even in sleep. She flicked a duvet over them with a mutter, closing the door behind her with a small snick.

She couldn't wait to tell Neville. He would be so proud of her.

END!