atruwritings

Accept and Adjust - Sirius/Hermione - T - OneShot

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 22:33:00 GMT

Title: Accept and Adjust
Relationship: Hermione/Sirius
Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: Teen
Warning(s): Sexual Content
Word Count: 807
Summary: When the choice is handed down, she made the right decision.

Made by: obviously394 of The Dark Arts!

Accept and Adjust

She worried her lip, staring out the window with her brow furrowed in consternation. She hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about it; about them. They looked at her so… She didn’t have a word for it. They were confused, taken aback, unsupportive, and almost… sad. His hand rubbed her arm soothingly, wanting to take this fear from her shoulders. He kissed her neck, fingers stroking her hair from her temple. It was relaxing; his warmth surrounding her was familiar and she couldn’t help but scoot back until she was wrapped entirely in him.

“They’ll come around.”

She wasn’t so sure. “And if they don’t?”

“They will.”

He was so certain. From the very beginning, that arrogance had always been there. She’d once disliked it, the easy swagger with which he walked; the casual defiance in his gray eyes and calculated cunning in his stance. He pursued her with the same assurance; flirting as though he knew her answer before she spoke it. She kept him at arm’s length for months, but he never wavered, never stumbled in his courting. Even now, after he’d finally won in their battle of wits and attraction, he so arrogantly held onto her, never even a flicker of fear when the ultimatum was handed out.

“It’s us or him, Hermione!” Ron had shouted.

Friendship or love, he might as well have said.

The way they stared at her, as if burning her on spot with their disapproval. Perhaps it was more her stubborn nature that made her decide then and there. If they couldn’t stand at her back as she had for them all these years, then why should she cower and beg forgiveness now when she found what she so desperately wanted? He wasn’t who they thought she’d end up with; he wasn’t the classical prince, nor she the beautiful princess. But what they had was real, deep, ever-lasting. Magical, even; as clichéd as it might sound.

He made her feel. Passion came into view with such clarity when she was in his arms. The intimacy she shared with him, in the simplest of things, had never measured up to this before. The men before him seemed like boys, young and inexperienced; lacking the unique traits she so fancied in him. Yes, he was arrogant, immature, vengeful and even a little quick to judge, but… He loved with an immeasurable strength. He protected those who meant so much to him, always there to stand tall and brave in the midst of battle.

She turned in his arms and stared up at him with genuine whiskey brown eyes. “But if they don’t,” she said, covering his mouth with her hand to stop any interruption on his part, “I want you to know that I don’t regret my choice.” She set her lips determinedly. “For all their bullheadedness, I hope they do realize how wrong they were, but if they don’t or can’t… It doesn’t change anything.”

And for a moment, even if he had done such an incredible job hiding any hint of insecurity, she saw a flash of relief in his eyes.

Taking her wrist in his hand, he tugged her fingers from covering his mouth, kissing them as they slid away. “Good…” He smirked at her. “I always did like smart birds.”

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’m ever so intelligent for picking you above anyone else.”

He chuckled lowly, the texture of it so sensual. Burying his hand in her hair, he stroked it back from her face. “Obviously I’m not quite the dunderhead some might think me… After all, I did land you, didn’t I?” Leaning forward, he kissed her nose sweetly.

“Keeping me is another matter.” Sitting up from his embrace, she shucked off the sheets from her naked form and stood up, stretching used and exhausted muscles. “Much as lying in bed with you is always fun, I would like to eat some time.”

Grinning, he reached out and hooked his arm around her waist, dragging her back into bed and underneath him. “I have an insatiable appetite, love, but it isn’t for food.” Lowering his head, he took care to cover her body in kisses, nibbling and licking her until food was far from her mind.

Perhaps Harry and Ron would come around in time, but for now she could do nothing but enjoy the spoils of a choice rightly made. If they couldn’t see that she and Sirius were immensely happy together that was their problem. She, however, couldn’t deny just how increasingly happy he made her. And if the way he cradled her close and murmured loving words in her hair when he thought she was asleep was anything to go on, he loved her with same intensity. The world, her best friends included, would simply have to accept and adjust.

The Dragon and His Lion - T - Hermione/Draco - OneShot

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 02:51:23 GMT

Title: The Dragon and His Lion
Music: I Want You – Fefe Dobson
Relationship: Draco/Hermione
Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T (PG13)
Warning(s): EWE, Sexually Suggestive
Word Count: 2,295
Summary: Hermione has spent entirely too long questioning what they have, but with a little push, she might finally let them truly be.

Made by: Violet of The Dark Arts

The Dragon and His Lion
1/1

The fall leaves crackled under her feet as she paced back and forth, crossing her arms around her waist and then letting them fall abruptly to her sides. What was she doing? She’d asked this question of herself so many times it seemed clichéd by now. There was no answer that would benefit her. No reply she could give herself that would take the burden from her shoulders.

It was wrong.

Oh how it was so, so wrong.

And yet here she was, again. Like always.

She wanted to hate herself for it, but was simply unable.

Somehow, he’d approached her without her hearing. Then again, her thoughts were on high volume and really, Buckbeak could’ve come tearing in behind her and she wouldn’t have flinched. His arms slid around her waist, held tight, unwilling to let her flee from him and spout her self-righteous claims, once more, that what they were doing must stop. And instead of fighting him on it, she stayed still, let him embrace her, let herself enjoy it and simply sighed.

Why was it that loving the enemy felt so right?

“Still thinking too much for the both of us?” he murmured against her ear.

She should frown at him; remind him that thinking was exactly what they should be doing.

Instead, she bit her lip. His voice had taken on a seductive lilt to it that never stopped making her heart trip over itself. Once upon a time, she would’ve equated it to sneering and a too-high sense of one’s self. Now, however, she’d seen a side of him so rare few had and she couldn’t stave off the exquisite shiver that ran up her spine as he pressed his lips to base of her neck.

“As always, you’ve tried to talk yourself out of this, us…” He paused, licked his lips and added, “Me.”

She turned in his arms, her brows furrowed as if she meant to reason with him. “You have to understand—“

“I do.”

So sincere, as if for a moment his façade of uncaring had slipped and fallen, waiting to be picked back up whenever he felt the desire.

He laughed, shook his head as he stared down at the ground. “In fact, I’m fairly certain you’ve hit your head a few times and despite trying to think yourself out of this, you’re simply unable to.” He stroked her face, fingered a lock of unruly hair and half-smiled affectionately. “Fact is, I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

She frowned. For all his bravado, he was still so certain that one day it would end and he wouldn’t allow himself to be surprised by it.

Her hands slid up his sides, bunched in the soft sweater he wore. Years ago, she would’ve imagined another man here, one who wore a knit sweater made by his mother with a giant misshapen R on it. The one she held onto so desperately now was made of the finest fabric, a deep green that nearly looked black. He wore it regally, as though it weren’t just something to stave off the cold but rather akin to a crown that spoke of his heritage.

Her thoughts were muddled. Shouldn’t she want the other sweater? Made by a loving mother and worn by a respectful son. Shouldn’t she want to be in his arms now rather than those that held her? But she didn’t, she hadn’t in so long that the idea rather turned her stomach. Yes, he was her friend, always would be, but to have him stand here and hold her like she was being held, it simply wasn’t right.

“You’re wondering about him again, aren’t you?” He didn’t sound angry, instead rather curious. “What d’you think he’d do if he were out here right now?”

Her lips curled. “Blast you away of course.”

He smirked. “You really think he could get the upper hand on me?”

She didn’t bother to stifle a snort at his arrogance. “You wouldn’t hurt him,” she told him though with a nonchalant shrug.

He quirked a brow, looking all the more intrigued. “Really? And why is that?” He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. “Seemed the last time I checked I royally hated the git.”

She smiled. “Yes… And you still do,” she assured. “However, I don’t and despite your never-ending dislike for him, you wouldn’t hurt him… Because you know it would hurt me.”

He paused, lips pursing as he stared down at her. “If you’re so sure then why don’t you trust me to handle you with such care?”

She frowned. “Could be the late-night rendezvous’ in creepy woods.”

He smirked. “It has an appealing mysteriousness to it.” Shrugging, he buried his fingers into her rebellious hair and tipped her head back so she was looking at him. “Did you ever think that maybe the reason I didn’t parade you around in front of flocks of people was not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t think you wanted me to?” He stared at her searchingly. “I’ve been prepared to marry you for over a year… Despite your fears and your insecurities and the bossy way you continue to tell me what I should be doing even knowing I won’t…” He smiled, genuinely. “It’s you who’s out here pacing and questioning what we have, Granger. Not me.” He kissed her forehead lingeringly.

“And what would change?” she wondered, biting her lip. “If I said something, if I told them, could we really be together?”

“We’re twenty-four, we can do whatever we damn well please.” He shook his head as she tried to interrupt him. “Listen to me, for once in your life, Granger. Shut up and just listen.” She pursed her lips, but she didn’t say a word. “I know how much they mean to you and you know how little they mean to me… However, you mean a lot to me.” In a soft, almost silent whisper, he murmured, “More than you’ll ever know.” With a sigh, he continued, “And when, not if but when, you’re ready to tell them I’ll be there… They won’t like it and they sure as hell won’t let it happen without a fight, but what matters is that eventually if this is what you really want, if they care about you half as much as I do, they’ll understand.”

She stared, mouth slowly relaxing as she took his words in.

How many times had she considered ending this on the simple reminder that her friends would never expect or accept it? She’d convinced herself so thoroughly that she’d never allowed any miniscule possibility that maybe, eventually, they would see that her relationship was something real. Had she been underestimating their friendship all this time? Sure, Ron could be bullheaded and Harry had his rash moments too, but would they desert her entirely because of—Of what? Love? A relationship? Consorting with the enemy?

She mentally rubbed at the headache coming on.

It’d been six years since Voldemort and everything involved… She’d looked down her nose at those who still held prejudices but wasn’t she then forcing her own best friends into the same position by believing they would never get by their biases? School was long over, the war was in the past, and while the man before her was no saint, he was certainly no Death Eater either. He’d made his mistakes and he’d spent the years since making up for them.

“It won’t be easy,” she murmured, chewing her lip. “And I can guarantee that as soon as people find out they’ll be anything but forgiving. At least… for a little while. Until…” She looked up at him, hopeful. “Things blow over and- and people begin to see that it isn’t some sordid affair.”

He smiled slowly, one side of his mouth lifting. “This mean you’re finally giving in, Granger? Going to lay down with a dragon and let them all know?”

She snorted. “Dragon is putting it a little arrogantly, don’t you think?”

He laughed. “We’re discussing a lifetime together and you’re trying to making implications about my manhood?”

She sniffed. “You started it.”

“Very mature,” he teased, shaking his head.

With a roll of her eyes, she jutted her chin. “Careful, dragon, or I might just replace you with something less scaly!”

His brow curled with a deceptive calm before his arm tightened around her waist, forcing her so close against him she swore she could feel his heart hammering through her breast. “Think it would be so easy to get rid of me, lion?”

She shivered, body relaxing entirely. “You’ve stuck around this long, I suppose…”

He smirked, tilting his head until their noses nuzzled together affectionately. “I plan to be around a lot longer.”

Lifting her arms, she wrapped them around his neck. “I might just keep you then.”

“Mm,” he laughed lightly, nibbling and sucking her lower lip. “You have no choice in the matter.”

Before she could reply, as she so indignantly would have, he kissed her. Her fingers buried in his hair, nails scoring down the back of his neck, all while each and every muddled thought in her overworked brain drained away. He had a way of making her think of nothing but him, of them. Tongue stroking her own eagerly, his teeth raked along her lips possessively, nibbling them until she was whimpering for more. Years ago, had anybody even hinted at an attraction between them she would’ve laughed herself blue and then hexed the mental idiot. Now, however, she couldn’t imagine not being so desperately attracted to him.

Feverish kisses slowed into lingering slants of their lips and flicks of their tongue until finally she opened her eyes to look up into the silver gaze that watched every emotion crossing her face. Breathless, they broke apart and she held his shoulders to keep herself steady. No doubt he would delight in knowing that her knees were weak and her body felt incapable of holding her up on its own. His hands stroked her back, long and wide they ran to and fro, kneading any leftover tension entirely away. He didn’t even warn her as he side-along apparated them to his flat. She stumbled slightly and glared up at him as he smirked knowingly.

Taking her hand, he led her into the bedroom she was so very well acquainted with. With a snap of his fingers, wine appeared on the end table with a couple of tall glasses next to it. “Celebrating,” he told her before she could ask. He poured them each a flute before he lifted his in her direction, “To the little lioness finding her courage… and taking on the dragon for good.”

With a grin, she shook her head. “Your ego never ceases to amaze me.”

Winking devilishly, he said, “As does nothing else equated with me.”

Laughing merrily, she sipped her wine before replacing the glass on the table and reaching out to take hold of his sweater. “I want this off and then I want to celebrate for real.”

He smirked, tugging his sweater off with an easy arm lifted back behind his shoulders. He tossed it away, revealing pale, unblemished, naked skin beneath. She reached for him, palms sliding up his torso slowly.

“No fair,” he murmured, tugging her own top up her body as he kissed the length of her neck.

She licked her lips, shuddering with expectation as her shirt left her and his hands set on the clasp of her bra with renewed purpose.

“Come tomorrow,” he said, nipping at her earlobe, “The entire wizarding world is going to know you’re mine.”

The raw possession in his voice made her quake from the inside out.

Her eyes snapped open as she leaned in close and pushed him back on the bed before straddling his waist. “And vice versa,” she promised with a seductive purse of her lips.

He smirked. “I can see the headline now… Trio’s Golden Girl Lowers Herself to a Malfoy.”

She grinned, working his belt out of his pants as she chuckled softly. “Such a way with words, Draco.” She rocked her hips against him, shaking her head. “And lowering will be met with lifting.” She narrowed her eyes playfully as she pushed his pants away and reached for her own. “You going to let me do all the work then?”

Crossing his arms behind his head, he quirked a blonde brow. “Just enjoying the show.”

Leaning over him, she kissed his lips quickly, pulling away before he even had a chance to reciprocate. “Cooperation is met with rewards.”

His hands were quickly helping her divest of any remaining clothing and it was not her but him who was ‘lifting and lowering’ as he rolled her onto her back and settled between her thighs for a long night of celebration.

Tomorrow, he would finally have what he’d been trying to convince her of since a year and a half ago: her; in all of her complete and sweet glory. She might’ve given him her body and a good portion of her heart, but it wasn’t until she trusted herself with him entirely that he would have what he’d been wanting and needing all along.

No doubt the wizarding world would balk at the match and wait for it to fail. But Draco Malfoy wasn’t about to see that happen anytime in this lifetime. He’d spent enough time trying to convince her of what they could really be and now that he really had her he wasn’t about to let her go. So the lion finally stopped running and the dragon was able to claim her as his own; a twisted fairytale come true.

A Little Push - Mature - Charlie/Hermione

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 18:57:40 GMT

Title: A Little Push
Music: On Call – Kings of Leon
Relationship: Hermione/Charlie
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: Mature
Warning(s): Sexual Content
Summary: Hermione’s more than a little distracted by something that should be innocent.

Made by: SwissMiss of The Dark Arts!

A Little Push

Obviously, she’d been slipped some kind of potion. Otherwise, the sight before her wouldn’t be nearly as intense as it seemed to be. He hadn’t noticed her gaze, or if he had he wasn’t bringing attention to it. He sat in a lawn chair with his legs sprawled in front of him, dirty pants hung low on his hips and his shirt tossed elsewhere. The sun had left his bare chest red, a sheen of sweat beading along his abdomen. But that, as delicious as it was, was not the sight that had her watering at the mouth.

Instead, as ridiculous as it might sound, it was in fact the cherry red apple he held aloft. Sweet juice dribbled down his chin unnoticed. Head tipped back, eyes closed against the sun, he brought ripe fruit back to his mouth, teeth penetrating the skin and tearing white flesh with ease. The crunch made her shiver, the way his tongue swept along his lips made her bite down hard on her own. A droplet of his apple’s juice fell, landing on his chest and spreading outward. With a whimper that escaped the back of her throat, she was across the yard and licking it from him in a matter of seconds, eyes fluttering with mad delight.

He grinned, mischief playing over the plains of his handsome face. His freckles sat more present from the scorching sun, along with a flush that highlighted his neck and wide shoulders. Sweeping his free hand through his hair, he shook his head. “Lasted longer than I thought you would,” he offered, smirking.

Rolling her eyes, she sat up, straddling his waist. With a prim lift of her nose, she looked down at him swottily. “I protest on the grounds that I’m sure you slipped something into my tea this morning.” As if to end the discussion entirely, she crossed her arms over her chest.

With a rumbling laugh that sent heat to the center of her belly, he wrapped his arms around her tightly, dragging her against his long body. “Admit it, love… You want me.”

She pursed her lips, despite how easily her body acquiesced to the hard plains of his own.

Amused, he stroked his hands up and down her back, drawing her shirt from her shorts in the process. As rough fingers teased her spine, she arced in the air, her head falling back with a sigh of content.

Nipping her earlobe playfully, he said, “Admit it and I’ll quit teasing…”

She bit her lip, her hands falling to his shoulders, squeezing.

With a shake of his head, he bent forward and mouthed her breast through her shirt, his tongue dampening the fabric and arousing her nipple into reaction.

She squirmed against him, hips rocking forward for friction.

He leaned away, hands falling from her entirely until he was simply lazing there like before, arms locked behind his head while he stared up at her with a knowing grin.

She huffed, cheeks pink. “Fine! I want you! Are you happy now?”

Smirking, he reached for her once more. “Very much so.”

With a roll of her eyes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “And where, dear husband, did you come up with this little ploy?”

He quirked a brow. “You think I haven’t seen you ogling me all morning? You just needed a little push, love.”

“Ogling?” Her mouth fell open. “Charles Weasley!”

Laughing, he kissed her, shutting her up entirely.

Kismet - T - Hermione/Remus - Part II

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 21:54:09 GMT

Title: Kismet
Song: Then – Brad Paisley
Rating: T
Genre: Romance/Family
Relationship: Remus/Hermione
Summary: He’d have happily spent a lifetime on her front stoop; kissing her until death did them part.

Made by: shalena of The Dark Arts

Kismet
Part II

He watched her from his perch on the porch swing, swaying back and forth, eyes never leaving her form as she ran in circles, chasing the little boy that eluded her grasp with giggles that had his parent’s hearts swelling. Her answering laughter made his gut clench, had him leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Was it really so long ago that he’d doubted this? Years spent convincing himself he’d gotten it wrong until that fateful date he arrived at her door and let go. Moony crowed with excitement; finally, he would have his mate. Hermione Granger, such an incredibly brilliant witch. But young, far too young for an old werewolf like himself.

She proved him wrong on that front.

Once upon a time, he’d been lost, jaded, ready to die in a war and be received by the friends he so missed. But he lived and they won and as the years would go on he found the desire to simply die faded and instead the want for something more began to eat at him. He pushed it away; he couldn’t have it. But there she was, smiling at him as if she had all the answers, knew all his secrets, and he was scarce to find a breath that would sate his aching lungs. She walked past him, her scent lingering in his nose long past when his eyes could no longer see her. Moony was loud, aching to have her, frustrated with Remus for not doing what was needed.

He spent weeks toiling over all the ways and reasons it was wrong but then… He was standing in front of her door, knocking, and she answered with that kind smile of hers, the one that reminded him he was no monster, not to her. Words were lost on him but Moony was quick to ask for what he wanted, instead of taking as he’d been so inclined in the past. A date; that night, dinner. He spent an hour fussing over his wardrobe and laughed to himself as he imagined all the ways Sirius would make fun of him for his behavior. He settled on a set of robes that weren’t as shabby as the rest and that she’d once told him set his eyes off nicely. He nearly talked himself out of it six different times before he finally picked her up and apparated them to a nice restaurant.

There was wine, conversation of everything under the sun, and sweet laughter that made him feel whole again. When he relaxed he found the feeling of awakening. Just watching her, the flush that crept up her neck, the way her lashes fell against her cheeks as she smiled reverently. He swore he’d never felt so full as he had in that moment. He dreaded the end of the night, never wanting their time together to end. But as he walked her up the cobblestone path to her door, he knew the only way it would continue is if he let it. She turned from the door, looking up at him so becoming, smiling gently as the wind whispered locks of her frenzied hair against her face.

He might’ve taken a minute or forty-five simply gazing at her, working up the courage, and she never once hastened him. Finally, with Moony encouraging him on, he let out a shaky sigh and then… He kissed her.

She let out a whimper of pleasure as their lips slanted together and that one, sweet noise convinced him entirely. He had her pinned against the door, one hand tangled deep in the recesses of her hair while the other swept up her spine. A grin quirked his lips as she shivered, arching into him, her lips parting on a gasp of pleasure. She tasted faintly of the red wine they’d been drinking, but more so of heat and comfort, love and deep abiding friendship. Her fingers tightened around the front of his robes, dragging him against her tight.

He’d have happily spent a lifetime on her front stoop; kissing her until death did them part.

However, as air became a necessity and the hour grew late, their mouths slowed, lips still meshing in slow, lingering kisses before finally stopping entirely. Her head was lolled back against the door, his forehead pressed to hers, their breath mingling together between them. He nibbled her lower lip, unable to stop himself, his tongue soothing it moments later.

She smiled, her lips upturning in a show of true content.

Her soft hand crept up to his face, cupped his cheek, thumb spread beneath his eye tenderly. “Silly werewolf… Waiting so long…” she murmured dazedly.

He chuckled under his breath. “Never again, Cub.”

She licked her lips, eyes fluttering as if the taste of him lingered. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The rising laughter of his son drew him from his thoughts and he focused once more on the happy duo running rampant in the backyard.

“Catch him, Remus! He’s a wild animal on the loose!” Hermione cried gaily.

Running headlong for his father, Jacob Sirius Lupin leapt up into the air, arms out, fully certain his dad would catch him. And, as expected, Remus caught him mid-air easily, drawing him into his lap and wrapping his arms tight around the wiggling, laughing boy. “What are you, wild beast?”

Giggling madly, Jacob shook his head. “I’ll never tell!” he exclaimed.

“I’ll slay you myself, I swear it!” Remus cried, grinning as he began tickling his young son.

“No! No! Cheater!” Jacob laughed, squirming. Laughter and stunted breathing mixing, he held his arms out wide. “Mum! Save me!”

Tapping her chin thoughtfully, Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know… You were wild and unmanageable… Might be best to leave you…”

Nearly out of breath from laughing so hard, Jacob thrashed his head back and forth. “I p-promise I’ll be good!” he called out, grinning widely. “The best werewolf in all the l-land!”

“Whaddya say, Cub?” Remus asked her, lifting a brow. “Should I let him go then?”

Pursing her lips to hide her smile, she finally nodded.

Remus let their son go free and with a bubble of giggles, he hopped off his dad’s lap and then shrieked, “Gotcha!” before running off down the porch.

Chuckling to themselves, Hermione and Remus watched him go before she took a seat next to him.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders he bent his head to rest against her own. “Long day, love?”

“He has more energy than a horde of hippogriffs after a ferret…” she murmured.

He snorted. “If he weren’t so brilliant, he’d be easier to subdue,” he agreed.

“Mm, yes, but then he wouldn’t be our son…” She nuzzled his neck affectionately. “And what a shame it would be not to have such a cunning little werewolf as my own…”

He grinned, turning his head to look down at her adoringly. His large hand encompassed half her face as he swept her hair from her eyes and stroked the shell of her ear lightly. “If ever there was such a time as that, I would’ve been a terribly foolish man.”

Her lips quirked. “We all make mistakes… It’s fixing them that makes the difference.”

Sighing, he held her tightly, closing his eyes as he breathed in her so familiar scent. She was his whole life, his whole world; she and Jacob were everything to him. He couldn’t imagine a different or better life as this. Sighing sleepily, she wrapped an arm around his waist and snuggled against his chest as if it were her personal pillow. As the sun crept low over the landscape, he listened to her heart steady and her breathing even out. His fingers ran endlessly through her hair, tangling in curls. He imagined one day all her luxurious brown hair would be grey and her skin would wrinkle with age, he only hoped he sat next to her here as he did now, to hold and love her just the same.

“And I thought I loved you then…” he murmured thoughtfully.

So many and yet so few years ago when her tender smile made his heart jump, he’d known love for the first real time. But it compared nothing to now, when she lay in his arms as if he could keep all the darkness of the world at bay. Their wedding bands glinted in the fading sunlight and their son’s loud footsteps could be heard coming back around the porch with all the negligence of a boy who feared nothing and only sought freedom and laughter. As he came around the corner, he spotted his mum fast asleep against his dad and he gave quiet a try as he crept closer.

“She’s asleep again,” he murmured to his dad.

“’Fraid you tired her out,” Remus replied jovially.

He chewed his lip, reminiscent of his mom when going over some dilemma or another. “Dad?”

Remus nodded at him to continue.

“D’you…” He looked away at the yard they’d just been running through. “D’you think the baby will get all her attention when she comes?”

He smiled slowly. “Your mum has enough attention to go around, I assure you.”

Jacob nodded, mouth hesitantly curling in a smile. “Yeah… I thought so.” And with that, he was off again, running about in chaotic youth.

Content, Remus sat back in the swaying bench and held his wife as he watched the sun set on another day of a life he’d once thought he never deserved. But now, he knew… The life he’d always been meant to live was here with Hermione. Destiny was not to be fought or ignored and who was he to question what was so obviously kismet?

Kismet - PG - Hermione/Remus - Part I

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 21:51:57 GMT

Title: Kismet
Song: I Got A Feeling - BEP
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance/Humor
Relationship: Remus/Hermione
Summary: It’s the beginning of a lifetime…

Made by: shalena of The Dark Arts

Kismet
Part I

Vivid brown eyes watch him walk up the drive, hesitate at the door, nearly knock and then turn to leave. Such indecision in a man she’s only ever known as intelligent and brave. She’s not sure whether to frown or smile; he’s trying, at least. It’s more than she expected. She knows he’s listing in his head, possibly even under his breath, all the reasons why he shouldn’t and she wishes she could give him a list of why he should. But he has to do this himself; has to convince himself that what he’s doing is right, meant to be, destiny.

He lifts a hand, curls his fingers into a shaky fist and finally knocks. Once, twice… falters… and then a third booming bang. She hurries toward the door, pauses before it, doesn’t want him to know she’s been watching, waiting. Finally, she pulls the door open and smiles warmly at him.

“Remus,” she greets, pointedly not calling him Professor Lupin, as she’s certain that would be the final straw to keep him from going forward. She feels positively giddy, nearly standing on her tip toes as if to rush into his arms happily. He’d no doubt retreat then, she just knows it.

He nods, eyes falling, raising, uncertain whether to make contact or not.

“Was there something you need?” she asks, purposely inflecting with what she hopes is a desirable tone. She hasn’t had much practice with this but she knows what she wants and she’s never been one to give up or walk away, not when the outcome is so rewarding.

He wipes sweaty palms on his pants, swallows tightly and finally looks at her; amber eyes filled with confusion, hope, want and so many more unnamed feelings. “I… That is… Well, I just…”

She knows the last thing he needs is her pity or compassion, but she truly wants to reach out and pat his shoulder, tell him it’s all right, that she understands, and that she wants the same as him. But he has to do this himself, has to make this last step or he’ll forever wonder and doubt. Too many years he’s been ignoring himself; what he desires or deserves, all because he can’t see himself as the truly remarkable man she’s always known him to be.

She purses her lips to stop herself from reassuring him, instead waits with a hopeful skip in her heartbeat.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, inhales and then… Lets it all out, relaxes, stares at her a long moment, amber eyes glinting now. “Dinner,” he finally says, a faint growl in his deep voice. “Tonight.”

Her expression softens, shoulders squaring with confident knowing. “I’d love to.”

His lips twitch with a smile as he leans forward, inhaling deeply along the curve of her face, nose buried against her thick hair. “Tricky little witch…” he murmurs, Mooney slipping forward to take control.

She grins. “I prefer patient.”

A scarred, full hand cups her cheek as he draws away, Remus staring at her with something entirely too intimate for words. “I want to ask you if you’re sure… but I have a feeling you’ve been certain for much longer than I should consider.” He strokes a long thumb down the slope of her nose, lets it linger on her plump lower lip and then stands back. “I’ll be here at seven,” he says, no sense of uncertainty left in him.

Licking her lips, she nods. “I’ll be waiting.”

His mouth turns up at the corners before he walks backwards a few steps, gaze lingering on her. Finally, he turns, apparates away and she watches, staring at where he once was with a stomach full of butterflies. She has a feeling that tonight is going to be a good, good night. With excitement singing in her chest, she turns inside her house to get ready for her date. It was the beginning of a lifetime, she knew; one where Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger were simply kismet.

Escaping Reality - Mature - Hermione/Blaise

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 21:44:21 GMT

Song: Sex on Fire – Kings of Leon
Rating: M
Genre: Romance/Angst
Relationship: Hermione/Blaise
Summary: He would have her as he so wanted, even if it meant one night alone.

Made by: 1smallTREEof The Dark Arts

Escaping Reality
1/1

The crowd milled about, so close and yet so far. He could see them and yet knew they couldn’t see him. Through the slit of the door a strip of light crept into the room, slivering up their forms, illuminating from the tip of her heeled toe to the top of his dark head. They, the Others, laughed, heads thrown back in a mockery of amusement. A play, it was all a charade; the actors, wizards and witches of everyday life, pretending all was good. But he knew better, as did she. Sure, Voldemort was gone but was the world so much better? They lived, they went on to have families and continue their lives as they had before, not near enough changing or learning from past mistakes.

He had though. He could taste the change in him, the coming of knowledge that brimmed deep inside him, alit in his mind. In his hands as they trailed from her taut shoulders, skimming her shaking arms, long fingers deftly tangling with her own for the briefest of moments before he gripped her hips and dragged her back against him, tighter than seemed humanly possible.

He buried his nose against her hair, inhaled as if expecting a great gust of life altering air to expand his lungs beyond capacity. Instead, he was invaded. Her scent; so sweet and strong, naturally feminine, passion underlying her ever conservative look. She quivered. Anticipation? Fear? Was a brave Gryffindor like her afraid of a former-Slytherin like himself? Were such biases still alive and kicking in someone he’d beholden for so long? He thought her past those judgments. As if hearing him and wanting to prove herself, she turned quickly in his arms, lifting her own to wrap around his neck.

Inquisitive brown eyes bore deeply into his own evergreen; wonder, never-ending curiosity, and a fire burning deep that made no suggestion of quelling. The Others wouldn’t know, he understood. He wasn’t asking for a lifetime, though his ragged heart begged him not to ask but to take, to keep. The Others, playing their parts out there, unknowing of what he held so close in his arms. The Red Head would wonder where she was off to, maybe search a little before returning to his true love; food. The Scarred One might search as well, only to be distracted by The Red Head’s Sister. And if more came, he couldn’t care less. This was his time; quite possible the one and only.

He slid a hand up her spine, forefinger gliding along the zipper of her dress. No robes for Miss Granger, no. She kept her muggle side out and present, never wavering in her overwhelming pride for being what so many would derisively call a mudblood. He had too, once… Hadn’t he? Or was he transferring again? Was he taking memories of so many as his own? His mother had used the insult more than once, as had her many suitors of the past. And as a Slytherin he couldn’t say he hadn’t heard it said often, especially in direct connection with the all-too-smart woman who stood snug against him this moment. But had he? He’d never truly taken a side, kept quiet involving his ties because he chose not to have any. It was muddled, confused, but he did know that his thinking now was only that she was beautiful and warm and his.

Her hand rose, the back of her knuckles stroking the length of his neck. He swallowed, tight, rigid, wanting so much and yet unwilling to rush. She cupped his cheek, thumb tracing his high cheekbones, sliding up to press against his temple as if to draw understanding from his mind. He cradled the back of her neck softly, the tips of his fingers burying in her riotous hair. She leaned back instinctively, her body bowing to his.

“Do you think they’re watching?” she murmured, her voice rather hoarse from this intrusion of reality, this separation from the pretending.

“I don’t care… I’m consumed…” Her stared at her thoughtfully, searching. “With you.”

Her breath stuttered, her brow drawing tight, as if… she had to wonder… “Why?”

His lips quirked, white teeth bared with pained honesty, and without a word, he leaned forward to kiss her. Noses brushing, brow to brow, he slanted his lips across hers. She didn’t move; away or closer. She simply stood; eyes wide and stunned. And slowly, as his tongue stroked her mouth with measured patience, her soft lips parted for him. His hands fed into her hair, tightened, pale knuckled as he took now without any sense of waiting. As though death were on the horizon and this was his last hope he kissed her fervently, teeth and tongue and lips meshing, dominating, taking and receiving. Just as he knew she would, she gave as good as she got. Clinging to his hair, fingers gripping, tugging, straining to draw him nearer, she yanked at his hair, at his neck, anywhere she could find purchase.

Breaking away, lips forced apart, they each panted heavily, staring heavy-lidded at one another. He chose not to wait, not to hesitate, as he swore she was too brilliant not to think of any consequences. And so he bent forward, buried his face in the crook of her neck and suckled her pulse as though a vampire out for blood, seeking reverence and sustenance in the pale skin of her throat. Teeth scored along her riveting skin, tongue lapping at her until she whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair, against his back. He moved on, wanting to hear her cry out for him everywhere, wanting to be at her every erogenous spot at once. He spilt kisses along her shoulder, pushing the cover of her dress away, letting it dangle down her arm as he explored heaven. Shaking fingers drew the zipper of her gown down and the confines of fabric once hugging her tight loosened.

Her pert breasts were flushed, sitting cupped in the laceiest bra he’d seen in his life. He grinned to himself, knowing what he thought of her was true; proper but not prim and passionate beyond reason. The others might not see, might not know, but he had and he enjoyed it rapturously. He kissed each breast lingeringly, content as gooseflesh fanned across rosied skin, making them even more beautiful. Her gown fell forgotten at her feet, leaving her in her knickers that he wholly wanted off her. He cupped her hips, intent on kissing every naked inch of her, only to be pushed away. He stared at her, breath held, waiting for her cunning and spot-on mind to call a halt to all things unrelated to sanity.

Instead, she chewed her lip, stared up at him with big brown eyes and finally… she reached forward, undid his tie with one fluid hand, tugging it off slow and sensual before laying it on a nearby end table with care. She unbuttoned one, two, three slots from his collar down, fingers sliding through his parted shirt to stroke his chest hesitantly. He swallowed, tightened his jaw so it wouldn’t quake with miserable adoration.

His hand shook visibly as he raised it to her face, cupped her cheek. A shuddering breath left him as she leaned into his hand, eyes falling to half-mass.

“If it’s not forever…” he murmured throatily. “If it’s just tonight…” His arm swept around her waist, tightened, and drew her up until she was plastered against him. “It’s still the greatest.” Perhaps she’d think him vain and quite possibly, he was. He couldn’t say with all certainty he’d be her greatest, but this moment, this night, she would be forever his greatest love.

Grabbing his neck rather roughly, she tugged him down until their mouths met, fit, connected with a spark of intense knowing. She backed them up, hefted her leg up around his waist as her back met the wall with a thud. She laughed under her breath; soft, sweet, as if they shared this tender moment between only them, something to be remembered and thought about in later years.

That same shaft of light fell upon where they once were, no longer highlighting them, as the Others could be forgotten now, a distant memory. For tonight was them; him and her alone. And he would make her remember it, he would leave his print all over her, hands and fingers, tongue and teeth, lips following, every single inch of her beautiful body, until she couldn’t imagine another, couldn’t fathom anyone touching her the same.

Clothing fell, tossed and strewn about, shoes kicked off until bare toes wiggled against each other and naked legs were tangled. He took her against the wall, again on the floor, and panting, near exhausted, he hauled her up on top of a desk where he cradled her close and worked the silencing spells to near breaking. She was like liquid fire on the inside, burning and soothing him in the same moment. A tight cocoon that begged him never to leave, that gripped and quivered around him as if he were a long lost companion come home. Her naked breasts were his for the taking; hands and mouth molding around her blushing peaks as he drove her to passion’s edge.

And when sweat left their skin cold as they lay entwined on an old rug that smelled of money and age, he watched her doze contently in his arms. The others heard nothing, thought only of the party, enjoying the fake festivities long past the witching hour. All while he lay basking in the glow of a woman he’d been feverish for, his bones rattling his body with desire for her since… He couldn’t remember how long it’d been. Perhaps even in Hogwarts there had been the attraction, the want for the bookish beauty.

However long it’d been, it felt as though with sunrise all would be lost once more. Dawn would bring about old rivalries and friends or foes would be quick to remind them of their duties. She’d return to The Red Head and The Scarred One, hoping they wouldn’t ask where she’d been all night. Perhaps in years to come she would remember him with fondness as he knew he always would her. He hoped.

The night grew late, the moon fading as the sun sought to rise. He stayed awake, wouldn’t dare sleep away a moment so consuming. Arms wrapped around her, their fingers twined against her stomach, he breathed her in, watched as she dreamt so easily, as she lay so comfortably, without worry as he held her as his own.

“Blaise,” she murmured sleepily.

“Hm?”

“I have so many questions…”

He smiled to himself. “You always do.”

She turned slightly in his arms, staring up at him. “Would you answer them?”

He watched her chew her lip contemplatively and sighed. “If you want an honest answer.”

Her eyes held onto his boldly as if seeking and finding what she needed there instead. “I… I’m not sure I do.”

He nodded slightly before laying his chin against her shoulder and snuggling her closer. “One day, Pet… You’ll be ready to know.”

“I find that term disparaging,” she told him, her lips turning in a frown.

He smirked. “I knew you would.”

“Then why would you—“ She trailed off, eyes narrowing. “Sneaky Slytherin…”

“You flush when you’re angry,” he said simply, eyes taking in her form with a deliciously full appetite. “Can I help it if you practically vibrate when you’re passionate?”

Her expression hastily softened. “Most would find it… unattractive. I… I nag… Often.” She shrugged, turning her face away as if ashamed to some extent.

“You could nag me for a lifetime, Pet, and I’d still…” He wanted to tell her, truly he did. But she was so analytical and surely she’d remind him that this was really their first encounter. No one could fall in love from afar… Could they?

As if understanding, she smiled at him. “You are a true enigma, Blaise Zabini.”

His brow lifted, challenging. “Dare to discover me, Granger?”

Her hand rose, fingers stroking his face lightly. “I fear I already have.”

He kissed the palm of her hand and sighed as she leaned into him, turning her gaze back to the window as the sun slowly rose, bringing with it the light of reality. “Search harder, Lion… I have many facets to be uncovered.”

“Perhaps I will,” she whispered. “After all, what quest for knowledge is ever truly finished?”

He grinned, closing his eyes as he let himself be consumed by the fire of the sun, the light of his love, and the ambiguous end to one night and beginning of a new day.

Marked - T - Bill/Hermione

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 21:23:28 GMT

Title: Marked
Music: The Chain – Fleetwood Mac
Relationship: Hermione/Bill
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: T
Warning(s): Sexually Suggestive
Word Count: 893
Summary: Hermione sets out to show Bill how beautiful he is, scars and all.

Made by: .felixfelicis of The Dark Arts

Marked
-Ficlet-

He likes the lights off. She fights him on this, but eventually, when his sigh of discomfort does nothing but make her heart ache, she gives in.

He hates mirrors, any reflective furniture really. He avoids it if he can, doesn’t even look down at the silver cutlery just in case.

She knows nobody else notices, wonders if maybe she’s more to it than there is. But then, she knows him better, or at least differently, and she can see those little quirks of his that she wishes she could soothe. She doesn’t mind the other things he does that would grate on some nerves; his habit of always leaving his shoes anyplace that wasn’t the designated footwear area, or how he never cleans the tub when he’s done, leaving that ring around it until she gives in and magic’s it away. But when it came to things so personal, like him feeling self-conscious about his looks, she has to put her foot down.

She waits until he’s undressed, dragging the blanket back on their bed and getting ready to sleep and relax and forget all about anything except them. His job, his family, they’re all outside this room; everything that doesn’t involve the two of them appears non-existent, making this her perfect setting.

He leaves her end of the blanket down, just as she likes it. Over the years, he’s picked up on her little mutterings, like that of how the sheet beneath the blanket always gets tangled up funny if she doesn’t do it herself while climbing in next to him. He sits with his back against the headboard, dropping his book on the end table, forgotten. His arms flex behind his tipped head as he watches her undress, taking out her stud earrings, unfastening her hair and finally, drawing off the pajamas she’s taken to wearing around the chilly house during the evenings. His eyes darken, his jaw ticks, his tongue drags across his lips as he watches each article of clothing leave her body and land anally in the laundry basket. Until finally, she’s bereft of any material, standing gloriously naked and not a single moment of uncertainty remains as she crosses the floor and slips in next to him.

He reaches for her as he always does, his long body sidling up close to hers, heat warming her from the outside in, causing a stir in her belly that she’s well aware of by now. As he settles between her thighs, his arms falling to either side of her like a protective surrounding wall, she lifts her fingers to caress his face. There’s a small note of recognition, remembering, and then he’s reaching for the light, as if he can’t stand to have her see him while he makes love to her.

She’s put up with it long enough, she decides. Because whether or not he knows it, he’s beautiful. Stunning. She stills his hand, says nothing but takes it in hers, fingers threading, tightening. And then she traces each and every one of the still slightly puckered upheavals of flesh that score down his face. She lifts up, kisses them lingeringly as if she almost expects that to take them away. For him, not her. Because she loves them, even if he doesn’t, won’t, can’t.

He lays heavier against her, like a burden is placed on his back and he can’t hold it up any longer. She wraps herself around him, ignores her trembling heat that pleads to join with him, to have him buried deep inside her until anything resembling thought is impossible. But she can’t, not yet. Because he’s hurt, he’s suffering, and she won’t allow it to go on.

She kisses the corner of his mouth, her tongue tasting his lips, lapping at the barely-there edge of fangs that hasn’t and won’t reach their full potential. His arms flex, the muscles bunching and tightening, whether from discomfort or desire, she can’t tell. She buries a hand in his hair, tightens hers fingers around long ginger locks and holds him in place. Rocking her hips, she stares up at him with dark coffee eyes. “I could spend a lifetime just looking at you… Just watching the expressive plains of your face… The smirk of your devilish lips…” She drags her mouth up the length of his nose, pausing at his brow and sighing. “If you could see you through my eyes…” Her hands cup his face, thumbs stroking both unblemished and scarred flesh with the same reverence.

“I’m marked… by him,” he mutters hoarsely, his body tensing against hers.

“Mm,” she agrees, kissing his eyebrow. “The beautiful side of evil.”

“I’m not—“

“I don’t know what you see when you look at yourself, but it’s skewed.” She turns him onto his back with ease, straddles him, hands pressing heavy on his chest. “Let me show you just how beautiful I think you are…” And with that, she leans forward to pepper his face, his marks, with all the adoration she has within herself, pouring all of her love onto him until he’s drowning in it, unable to deny that her eyes see what he can’t, who he is, and that Bill Weasley is no less than hauntingly beautiful. If Hermione Granger could see it, prove it, then who was he to think her wrong?

Surrender to Seduction - T - Bill/Hermione

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 21:19:19 GMT

Title: Surrender to Seduction
Relationship: Hermione/Bill
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Warning(s): Sexually Suggestive
Word Count: 563
Summary: She’s helpless to it, really.

Made by: .brookabee of The Dark Arts

Surrender to Seduction
-Ficlet-

The room is stifling, the heat overwhelming, and yet everyone else seems chilled by the air circulating in from the open windows. She can feel herself sweltering from the inside out. The heat roils in her stomach, fanning out along her waist, coiling down her thighs, tendrils of fire licking at her loins. She nearly whimpers aloud, lifting her thick, heavy hair up into her hands, wanting to cool herself, but it does nothing to help. Her eyes widen, glance around, certain that those around her can nearly hear her panting, can see that she’s moments away from gyrating. And then she feels it, his gaze hot on her skin. Her pulse rises, flutters, and she can’t help but look, find, catch.

He stares back at her, eyes thinned as though he was taking in every minute inch of her with an indecent desire to kiss and lick, nibble and taste all of her. A bead of sweat forms on his throat, where she swears she can see his pulse hammering away, and slides slowly down the column of his throat, teasing her.

She licks her lips, her breath stutters, and she’s helpless, really.

He walks forward, his body tensed and swaggering toward her with all the deftness of a feline on the prowl. His long arm reaches for her and for a moment she wants nothing more than for him to toss her over his shoulder and drag her away. Instead, his hand sweeps across her waist, leaving a trail of wanting heat across her already clenching and twisting stomach.

He disappears into the hallway, likely to hide away in one of the many rooms here in his childhood home and she doesn’t even bother checking to see if the others in the room have noticed them before she follows after him. Maybe later she’ll make an excuse; tell them she went to read somewhere quiet. They’ll just shake their heads at her; silly Hermione, ever the bookworm. And she’ll smile, nod, knowing they have no idea.

Her legs are unsteady, shaking as she climbs the stairs behind him. Her hands are damp with sweat as they glide along the banister. She feels parched, empty, as she stands in the darkened room across from him, watching his back flex beneath his shirt. He sheds it, drops it to the floor with finality and turns toward her, his red ponytail swinging behind him, fang earring glinting in the moonlight. His body is nothing less than stunning; firm abdomen just begging to be licked.

Her teeth plant themselves in her lip, trying to stop a whimper of appreciation from escaping.

They stare, lusty eyes taking in each other like prey. She feels her desire ricochet from her to him before coming back, hitting her tenfold. She’s out of breath before she’s even in his arms, kissing him desperately as he drags her clothes from her body and stumbles toward the bed. Why she’s been avoiding this these last few months, she doesn’t know. Finally, the heat, the desire between them hits its boiling point and she can already tell it’ll be earth shattering between them, in and out of the bedroom. There would be no more over thinking for her, she knew. As he grinned down at her, a feral twist to his handsome lips, she was caught, captured, and she happily surrendered now.

Catching the Elusive Bookworm - T - Bill/Hermione

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 21:11:24 GMT

Title: Catching The Elusive Bookworm
Relationship: Hermione/Bill
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: T
Word Count: 634
Summary: Bill encourages Hermione to think with her heart, not her head.

Made by: obviously394 of The Dark Arts

Catching the Elusive Bookworm

He underestimated her. He thought she’d be so easy to convince until he met that infamous resistance of hers. She was careful, precise to the point of being anal, and while she was nothing like the women he’d known before her, there was something entirely seducing about her. She’d always been the affable sort and so it was easy to gain friendship from her, a must given her close proximity to the family. But as the years went on, she continued to grow into a woman of great interest.

He supposed at first that she might’ve been like the others, something of a challenge. Being the man he was, he never turned down a good adventure. However, she wasn’t so sweet or naïve as he’d once thought her and before long, he was spending months simply trying to get her to see him as anything more than a friend or an older brother of sorts. It was disconcerting, to say the least. He feasted upon her, watching every delectable movement she made; like a man bereft of water he relished in the simple beauty of her. The wild curls of her hair that seemed to have a mind of their own; flying and dancing in the wind as though to their own beat. The sweet tempting color and shape of her lips, calling to him like a seductress out for a slave.

For too long, she was elusive. The bright beauty in his dark empty life, giving him something to want and chase and hope for. With Fleur long gone, the war finally over, and his family moving on, growing up, he was left trying to live a life he no longer fit in. He couldn’t move from witch to witch like he once had, not after he’d had a taste of love in all its precious glory. Perhaps Fleur hadn’t been for him, but she’d shown him something worth fighting for.

His brilliant but cautious future-lover stepped out of The Burrow without noticing him. Mouth quirking at one corner, he followed after her. She’d no doubt roll her eyes at him, tell him he was wasting both his and her time, and then he’d try to woo her every way he knew how. Instead, as she stopped on the short walkway leading into the pond, he came to a halt behind her. He thought to be clever, win her over with his intelligence, but as he opened his mouth nothing he’d planned to say came out.

“I like you,” he finally said, honest and to the point. “I’m sure you have a few dozen reasons why we aren’t right for each other and I only have a handful to why we should, but… gimme a little time and I’m sure I could find a few more.”

She turned slowly, looked up at him with a thoughtful frown, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest.

“Give me a chance to prove we could be great…” He smirked, cocking a challenging brow. “Unless your Gryffindor courage fails you when it comes to something as visceral as love.”

Her gaze narrowed, disliking his opinion vastly, but still she refused to give in and fight him on the subject, unwilling to even argue over something she deemed unlikely.

“Come on, Smarts… You’ve thought enough with your head… Lemme teach you how to think with your heart.” He reached for her, his fingers tenderly brushing a stray curl from her face.

Her eyes fluttered of their own accord and she finally sighed. “Break my heart, Weasley, and I’ll break something or of? yours that can’t be repaired.”

He grinned. While he had no doubt she likely would, he didn’t plan to do anything less than love her to an extreme that would keep them both singing happily ever after.

Lovesick - K+ - Hermione/Bill

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 20:50:30 GMT

Title: Lovesick
Relationship: Hermione/Bill
Genre: Humor/Romance
Rating: K+
Word Count: 713
Summary: Bill really just needs a little motivation to go after what he wants…

Made by: hullo of The Dark Arts

Lovesick
-Ficlet-

This was stupid.

He paced, back and forth, his form tense and aggravated. He hadn’t chewed on his nails since he was a little kid but he gnawed at them vigorously now.

“You’re ruining mum’s new carpet,” Charlie told him breezily.

“Shove it.”

His younger brother snorted uncaringly. “Not my fault your fancy has a date.”

“She is not my…” He sighed, throwing his arms up. “She hasn’t said yes yet.”

Charlie quirked a brow, looking up from the wood he was whittling at. “Hm?” He tipped his head. “Yeah, but… she will.”

Bill glared. “You don’t know that.”

He shrugged, looking back down to his hobby once more.

“She hasn’t said anything, has she?” Bill asked, hands falling to his waist as he frowned.

Charlie rolled his eyes, answering sarcastically, “Yeah, we had girl talk over tea yesterday…”

“Well then how do you know she—“

“Ginny.”

“Oh… Right… Where is that tricky little sister of ours?” he wondered. “She’s the one who set this whole thing up!”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “What a horrible sister we have for getting her best mate a date with a nice guy.”

“Nice?” he half-shouted. “Whaddya mean, nice? He’s a complete arsehole!”

Charlie blew out an exasperated sigh. “You only think that ‘cause you’ve been half in love with her for the last year… And you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it.”

“Oi! I’m no coward!” Bill towered over his brother angrily, his face flushing in his menace.

“If you’d grow a set already, you’d be married and halfway to your first child already,” he muttered knowingly.

Bill pinched his brow, sighing heavily. “I’m not interested in her. We’re just… Acquaintances, really.”

Charlie’s red brows cocked knowledgeably. “Acquaintances who spend every lunch hour together? Who go out to Muggle plays in London and travel Paris when she says she’s never been? Who share a bottle of wine and tell each other your dreams and aspirations like a couple of lovesick wankers?”

“Shuddup,” Bill growled, shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No, you have no idea what do you about how you feel.”

He huffed, turning to begin his pacing once more. “Since when do you have anything to say about love and relationships? You spend all your time with scaly lizards and I’m s’posed to take your advice?”

With a sigh, Charlie rose from his chair. “No, brother, you’re s’pose to stop the love of your life from walking out that door and out of your happily ever after… And I am gonna find somewhere quiet where there’s nobody suffering from relationship woes. Because I, unlike you, can express myself just fine.”

Grumbling, Bill glared at Charlie’s back as he left.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted him to the arrival of the subject in question, and not a moment later a stunning and blushing Hermione Granger stepped out holding a purse and her favorite red sweater. “Well?” she asked, lifting a skeptical brow. “How do I look?”

He stared at her, swallowing hard as he searched for the right words to capture just how incredible he found her without coming off like some mushy sod. “You… I…” He stammered, eyes turning off as he tried to compose himself. There was a knock at the door, sounding loud and entirely too much like the end of everything he rightly cherished. As she moved to answer it, he called out, “Don’t say yes.”

She turned back slowly, her brow furrowed.

Licking his lips, he crossed to her, gripping her shoulders tightly, drawing her in close until they were face-to-face. “I have absolutely no idea what I can offer you right now that will make you choose me over him, but… I’m willing to do just about anything for you to not answer that door and walk out of my life right now.”

She stared at him, her breath trembling, before finally, she nodded.

He smiled, his heart skipping excitedly in his chest. He leaned forward, lips slanting over hers possessively, and took his first kiss of many from the woman he meant to make his own.

Out of sight, but watching on cleverly, Charlie and Ginny shook hands in a gesture of good work.

And Werewolf Makes Three - Mature - Remus/Hermione

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 20:28:00 GMT

Title: And Werewolf Makes Three
Music: Indifference – Pearl Jam
Relationship: Hermione/Remus
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: Mature
Warning(s): Sexual Content, Strong Language
Word Count: 797
Summary: The man, the monster, and the woman who loves them.

Made by: Bama of The Dark Arts

And Werewolf Makes Three

There should be bad memories here. Dark and haunting, cutting him down to the depths of his soul and tearing out the heart that so readily begged to no longer beat. Instead, he makes new memories; he paints these grounds with the beauty of something far more memorable. Full moons are forgotten as he lays her out on the spread black robe, hasty hands make quick work of her clothes, laughing lightly as they catch on twigs and thorny branches that reach out with gnarled fingers.

She smiles up at him, her angelic face bathed in what had in the past sent him to dark places. The moon shines on her now like a beacon, calling him to her sweet tender-heart. She lay beneath him with her legs spread on either side of him, her hips tilted tauntingly and her bra still covering lush breasts. A rosy hue colors her chest; from wanting or the cold, he doesn’t know. He can smell her heady warmth as she willingly arches up toward him, hips thrusting at her invisible lover. Her hair is spread across his discarded robe in lush curls of tangled chocolate. As he leans over her, light no longer graces the plains of her beautiful body, she’s shadowed now while he suckles her rosy peak through the white cotton of her brassiere.

She whimpers; such a soft, delicate sound compared to the rustling in the trees, the creatures hunting in the woods surrounding them. And yet, neither of them fear what lies out there. For inside he is the wildest of all beasts, the one to cause tremors of fear through those who dare come across his path. She tremors not in worry but with desire. Her thighs tremble as they wrap around his waist, her fingers shake as they dig into his bare shoulders, urging him on. Her insides quiver as he buries inside her, thrusting, imprinting himself on every fluttering inch of her heat. Her entire body jolts with each penetration, her breasts arching to his mouth as his teeth tear through fabric to surround the puckered pink nipples aching for his tongue.

Her blunt nails score down his front; these scars, these red wounds, are worth showing off, worth admiring in the mirror the next day. Her hands fan across his waist, grip his hips, drag him against her harshly, wanting more, deeper, all he can give. She never pleads in mercy, never looks at him in fear or disgust. She wants the man, the beast, the both of them, at all times. She grips Moony’s hair, squeezes the back of his neck, forcing him to bite and nibble at her in pleasured haste. She strokes Remus’ back, trails her fingers down his spine like she knows he enjoys; watches as he loses more control, grunting and crying her name as he fucks her into the ground while tenderly kissing her throat like a lover relishing the smallest of touches.

His large calloused palms fit beneath her arse perfectly, lifting her up into the air and holding her in place as he kneels on the unforgiving ground, his length pressed against her clit just right as he quickens and slows to keep her from that much desired edge. She falls into him, arms wrapping tight around his neck, hands burying in his hair as she whimpers against his ear. His eyes are unfocused, seeing only the moonlight on the forest floor as he seems to thicken inside of her, his body tensing beyond comfort, his hands bruising as they squeeze the soft flesh of her bum. She cries out, unmoving as he hurries; three more thrusts and they’re both done. She’s flying, breathless, murmuring his name like a sweet heavenly prayer. She goes limp, incapable of anything more than hitching breaths and soft murmurs of love.

He wraps her in his robe, hikes her up into his tired arms and carries her along to their cabin. It’s a short walk but his body is exhausted, his knees shake with each step and his body rails at him for not taking a moment to rest. But he moves forward, wanting to hold her in their bed, wrap around her warmth in the safety and comfort of their home. She’s good to let him do this, to mark the woods he spends so many full moons raging in. Her scent will linger, it’ll calm him through the nights where he wants nothing more than to tear flesh from bone. And when he wakes in the morning, he won’t feel that distraught ache as he once did. Instead, he’ll look for her, knowing she’ll soothe the terror with the knowledge that she will always be there, to love and cherish both the man and the monster.

Once Upon a Time Come True - T - Hermione/George

Tue, 01 Sep 2009 20:19:47 GMT

Title: Once Upon A Time Come True
Music: Calling You – Blue October
Relationship: Hermione/George
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Word Count: 8,282
Summary: The Life and Love of George Weasley

Banner made by: GryffindorGirl153 of The Dark Arts

Once Upon a Time Come True

The day George Weasley fell in love there was nobody to congratulate him. He wasn’t cheered on with a shot of Firewhiskey, he didn’t hear words of encouragement, and there was no excitement heard from the family Weasley. In their minds, he’d done wrong. He’d fallen for and taken a witch already promised to another of his brothers. George didn’t see it that way, and neither did his girlfriend.

It was a windy winter morning when she stepped inside his shop, her heavy coat buttoned to her chin, bright earmuffs atop her head and thick hair sticking in all directions as if it’d just been in a fight (and lost) against the riotous wind outside. She blew out a breath of exasperation, her pink cheeks hollowing for a moment, before she rather stomped toward him. “Do you know what I had to deal with this morning?”

Quirking an amused orange brow, he nodded for her to continue.

“A co-worker of mine just so happens to fancy himself a prankster-in-the-making and for some ridiculous reason thought I would be the right candidate for his first go-around!” Pursing her lips, eyes thinning, she glared darkly. “It would be in everyone’s best interest if there was a no-pranking-Hermione rule!”

George grinned. “Where would be the fun in that?” He shook his head. “If anyone needs more laughter in their life, dear swot, it’s you.”

Outraged, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, only to be further irritated as he reached across to lift her chin and close her mouth teasingly.

“I’ll tell you what…” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I have a shop full of nasties and a mind for mischief… why don’t I show you how to exact just the right kind of revenge?” He smirked. “I promise he’ll never prank you again!”

Swayed, her expression turned from aggravation to rather interested. “All right, but I don’t want some silly little fake wand…” A glint appeared in her eye that he couldn’t help but love.

“Granger… For you, I’ll only offer my very best…” He was over the counter and taking her hand in moments, dragging her toward his laboratory with purpose. “In fact… Why don’t we go see what I have on my testing shelf?”

Four days were spent in and out of the lab, brilliance matching brilliance, rearranging, resorting, recalibrating, until finally, they emerged victorious. He almost felt bad for the bloke about to understand the true nature of pranking. But when she kissed him on the cheek and promised to return with full glorious details, he decided the other man’s misfortune was his gain.

Their first date involved two bottles of butterbeer, a blanket, and a seat on a tree branch.

“Why are we here again?” Her brow knotted in confusion.

He shushed her, much to her consternation.

“When you told me you had something to show me, I didn’t think it involved climbing trees and spying…” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He grinned. “Don’t you know me at all?”

Much as she tried to hide her smile, he saw it.

Huffing, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So what is it we’re—“

She trailed off as an array of colorful lights exploded across the sky, reflecting in her wide brown eyes. It was as if the aurora borealis had merged with a meteor shower, soaring across the night sky in an incredibly beautiful display.

“What… is it?”

Smiling, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t think… Just watch…” he murmured gently.

And as the kaleidoscope of colors lit the sky, he watched them skitter over her face, painting her skin with every shade of the rainbow. Her face relaxed, her mouth turning up in a true smile, no holding back. She was stunning. She’d always been pretty, but right then, free of suspicion or purposeful expression she was simply incredible.

He didn’t know when she took his hand, but he felt it as she squeezed tightly and turned toward him. “Did you see that?” she asked excitedly.

Seeing as he hadn’t even been looking, he couldn’t form a response.

Her bright face slowly melted away as she was caught in his gaze.

“George?”

He leaned forward, hand sliding up her neck, cupping lightly, fingers stroking up into her hair relaxingly.

She swallowed, licked her lips nervously, but didn’t draw away.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he told her, wanting to calm her but at the same time seeking to make his intentions very clear. “And then I’m going to keep you.”

Her eyes widened as if she were about to rant at him for his possessiveness, but before she could his mouth slid across hers. A muffled moan escaped her, whether from the words about to put him in the place or simple desire, he couldn’t be sure. What he did know though was that she tasted like the sweetest and most passionate of fruits. Her lips were soft, warm, and utterly perfect. He started slow, teasing her with small strokes of his tongue and light nibbles of his teeth. But when she was leaning into him, her hands tight in his hair, he gave up on holding back and simply let himself devour her. She was entirely on board, he found, as she met him kiss for kiss, her hands everywhere all at once. It was only as they nearly fell right out of the tree they were currently sitting in that they were forced to slow down.

Panting, they stared at each other, tender lips swollen and red. With a light, feminine laugh, she reached up and cupped his face, her thumb stroking back and forth along his lower lip. “And how long have you been planning this?”

He smiled. “Since you stumbled into my shop, mad as ever, and revealed your own love for mischief.”

“That,” she murmured, tilting her face to nuzzle his nose with hers, “is just between you and me.”

Smirking, he nodded. “Deal.” And he sealed it with a kiss.

They didn’t tell anyone of their new relationship until both of them could be certain it was… right. Hermione had been adamant that they not rush things and while he knew he had feelings for her he wasn’t yet sure how deep they went. So they let things progress slowly, naturally, until one day he realized that they were avoiding the inevitable and it was finally time. Nervously, she agreed, and it was with firm hearts that they arrived at The Burrow to share their news.

His mum came rushing into the living room as if the Minister himself had just arrived, shouting all the way from the kitchen. “George Weasley!” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron. “What in Merlin’s beard does it take to get you to come see your dear mother anymore? I swear—“

She stopped short at the sight of Hermione standing close to him, their hands entwined and white knuckled.

Her brow furrowed suddenly as if her thinking had just been turned upside down and kicked down a hill.

“Mum, if we could just—“

She lifted a hand, her expression drawn tight. “And what of Ronald?” she asked stiffly, her mouth tightening with a frown.

Hermione and he exchanged a sigh. “Ron and I will always be good friends,” she began, already sounding tired.

“Friends?” his mother near-laughed at the expression. “Dear, I know you and he have had a few rough patches over the years, it’s natural in a relationship, but what matters is persevering through those hard times and—“

“Mrs. Weasley,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “Ron and I haven’t been together in over a year… What you call a rough patch, I call a non-existent relationship.” Licking her lips, she straightened her shoulders. “George and I have been seeing each other now for—“

“Seeing each other?” she repeated as if the terms confused her entirely.

“Dating? Seeing one another socially? Consorting with? Courting? Going steady? Wooing?” Finally, with a frown he added, “Shagging like bunnies!?”

“George!”

Hermione’s flush was one of both embarrassment and anger. “I understand that you thought things between me and Ron would eventually continue but…” She shook her head. “I’m very happy with George and… We hope you’ll understand that—“

“That you’ve gone behind my son’s back?” Molly lashed out, her brows knit with anger, expression darkly turning toward her son. “You’ve known since you were in second year… Ron’s practically been in love with her since he met her!”

“Right,” he muttered disagreeably. “What says love like constantly berating and misunderstanding each other?” Shaking his head, he turned his eyes away, his jaw tightening. “I know you’ve had your heart set on them for years, mum, but could you please see what’s right in front of you?”

Face fused red, Molly Weasley fumed. “I see a son who willingly backstabbed his little brother and a- a scarlet woman attaching herself to yet another of my misled sons!” Throwing her arms in the air, she turned around and walked away.

“Well… that went well.”

He felt her hand shake long before her tears ever escaped. Knowing she’d absolutely hate to have his mum see her in that state, he quickly flooed them out of The Burrow and into his flat. With a sniffle, she sat heavily on the couch, tipping her head forward so her hair fell across her face. Over the past months they’d been together, he knew exactly what that meant. She was going to sob her heart out and he’d be at a loss as to what to do. He’d tried making her laugh, ranting and raving for her, brewing a cup of tea to just her liking, but nothing had worked.

Shaking her head, she muttered scathing words under her breath, the likes of which she had wanted to but hadn’t said to his mother. Chewing his lip, he wanted to soothe her, couldn’t help but feel his own anger toward his mum for reacting so badly. Sometimes, that woman could be entirely too stubborn. Much like his girlfriend who was trying her damndest not to show him that she was upset.

Reaching over, her lifted her curtain of hair and let it fall behind her shoulder. Her tearstained red face turned slightly away from him and he felt the anger toward his mum multiply tenfold. Without pause, he drew Hermione into his arms and hugged her close, his hand running up and down her back soothingly. Uncertain, he simply murmured comforting words at her ear. “She doesn’t know what she’s on about, love… Just you see… in a few weeks she’ll be over here begging us to forgive her and telling us just how hardheaded she can be… Where d’you think ickle Ronniekins gets it from?”

Sniffling, she chuckled, burying her face in his neck and holding tight to his shirt.

Closing his eyes, he sighed, breathing in the soft scent of her. Her warm tears dampened his shirt collar and wet his neck, reminding him continuously that he’d gone home for support and ended up leaving entirely without. He knew his mum, knew she’d soon regret her harsh words, but he also knew that she was as stubborn as they come and that in the end, she might just pick Ron’s broken heart over George’s newly mended.

Not for the first time, he wished Fred were there to back him up and raise his spirits. In the past, he’d needed no help from anyone but his twin. He’d relied solely on the comfort of knowing that wherever he was, whatever he did, Fred was there doing it too. Things obviously would’ve been different given the circumstances, but he knew without a doubt that his brother would’ve been there to stand up for him and Hermione, never backing down as their mum went on tirade after tirade. Without him, however, he was left with the knowledge that though he wasn’t alone, he was going to have to take his own stand. And while his family might not yet agree with it, he knew his place was right where he was, holding her.

Unfortunately, Molly didn’t come bearing apologies within the following few weeks, nor the next couple months. In fact, she absolutely refused to say anything regarding the relationship that continued to grow and bloom between them. And during this time, she had twisted the story whether purposely or not so that it seemed Ron had lost the love of his life to his selfish older brother. Once the black sheep, Percy now stood tall and regarded George with the contempt that he had once been on the receiving end of and both Ron and Ginny had equally pulled away from him. Despite the fact that Ron was now dating Parvati Patil, he still seemed to agree with his mother and had taken George’s relationship with his ex as a personal blow. While Charlie still wrote him on occasion, he kept mostly to himself out on the dragon reserve and was remaining impartial. Bill agreed that their mum was treating them wrongly but he had his own life to live and a second child on the way, so he didn’t get much say in what was going on. It seemed the only Weasley who spoke up was his father and, as usual, he was often drowned out by his mum’s loud opinion.

“Do you miss them?” she often wondered, looking up at him curiously. She put on a brave face but she worried her lip with her teeth, giving her away entirely.

Cupping her face, pushing her thick hair back, he half-grinned. “Not as much as I’d miss you.”

She pursed her lips to stop her smile. “I’m serious,” she murmured.

Kissing her forehead, he shrugged. “That’s why we fit. While you ponder the seriousness of this I think I’ll go mix corrosive potions together.” With a grin, he leapt up from the couch to saunter toward the door.

“George Weasley!” she shouted, laughter filling her voice.

He winked back at her.

In the following two years, George found his family growing farther away from him. He no longer found the familiar Weasley owl on the window sill with a command to be there for Sunday dinner nor did he receive post concerning anything else. If his mum had a hand in it, he wasn’t invited. And so, when it came time for him and Hermione to move in together, it was just him, her, and Harry that charmed boxes weightless and flooed to and fro, moving things into their flat above the shop. Married to Ginny or not, Harry absolutely refused to turn his back on his best friend or his brother-in-law.

Their new living standards were celebrated at the bar between the two of them and a few friends. Lee toasted them, his arm swung drunkenly around Katie Bell’s waist and his firewhiskey sloshing over the rim of his cup. “To my best mate and his lovely swot,” he cheered, “May they enjoy every surface of the flat with relish and remember the silencing wards for the rest of Diagon Alley’s sake!”

“Here, here!” Angelina shouted laughingly.

Glasses raised, they all nodded their heads before tossing back the searing alcohol in one fail drink. Slamming them down on the table, they shook it off and called out for another. Arm wrapped tight around his lovely new flatmate, George found that whether his family was there or not, he was happy and bollocks to anybody who thought different.

Grinning up at him, a buzz already well on its way, Hermione played with his fingers in her lap. “If we’re to live up to Lee’s cheer, we’ll have to see just how sturdy the balcony outside our bedroom is,” she murmured seductively.

Smirking, he kissed her temple. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Mm, I never doubt it,” she said straightly before reaching out for her next shot and saluting Harry.

George gathered his own up, ready to enjoy his night to the fullest.

The day three years dawned, George arranged for the perfect meal to be prepared and delivered in a basket of his choosing. Arriving home from work, she had absolutely no idea what awaited her. He’d already run her a bath, smelling sweetly of vanilla and jasmine. White flower petals swam attractively in the water, leaving a trail of honey-colored swirls as they moved to and fro. He undressed her slowly as she stared on, mesmerized. Tossing professional robes aside and unbuttoning her white blouse, he kissed her shoulders tenderly. She leaned bonelessly into him as he shed her skirt and removed her stockings. With a giggle, she was swept up into his arms, gloriously naked, only for him to lay her down in the water and let her relish in the relaxing heat. While she let the day melt away from her, he was getting things ready.

By the time she rose from the tub, her fingers were wrinkled and her body felt anew. She dressed in the outfit he’d laid out for her, sans knickers, and stepped out of their bedroom to see what else he might’ve done. Like a shadow of the past, all the incredible colors that paraded before her on their first date were now glowing through the flat. As she stepped forward, she swore she could feel their brilliance inside her skin. “How…?”

He grinned at her mysteriously, stepping out in his finest robes, arms behind his back. “I’m not only charming, but adept at charms as well.” He winked at her before holding out a hand.

Still astonished, she walked to him, her eyes nearly unable to look away.

Her favorite meal sat on the table, dressed with a red table cloth. With the colorful lights all around her, there was no need for candles. He held her chair out for her, bowing rather teasingly as he placed a folded cloth napkin in her lap and then sat elegantly, if not slightly mocking, in the chair across from her. He poured them each a glass of her favorite elderflower wine and then grinned at her rather proudly.

“This is too much,” she murmured, smiling at him adoringly.

“Never too much,” he disagreed with a shake of his head. “If I’d magicked the moon into a glittering necklace and rearranged the stars to spell out your name it still wouldn’t be too much.”

She laughed. “You’re utterly ridiculous.”

“Ah, but I’m yours!”

Eyes falling with genuine love, she took his hand in hers. “And that you’ll stay.”

“Will I?” He squeezed her hand warmly and with just a flicker of light, she gasped.

Drawing her hands away, she stared down at the gleaming ring that sat perfectly on her finger. “George?”

“Say yes,” he told her, quirking a brow. “Say yes and I won’t have to embarrass you in public with grand displays of marriage proposals that would have you flushing red and eager to knock me on my arse.” He stared into her stunned brown eyes. “Say yes and I’ll sweep you off your feet in the comfort of our home… One day filled with children of our own and a marriage to rival all others.” Taking her hand once more, he lifted it to his mouth. “Say yes and I’ll promise to make you laugh and smile every day of your life.”

With quivering lips and tears in her eyes, she nodded. “Yes!”

He grinned widely, nodding as if he couldn’t quite believe her.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she repeated, leaping up from her chair and hurrying around the table to jump into his arms. Kissing him, deep and desperate, she murmured breathlessly against his lips, “You could’ve asked me while standing in the most crowded square in all of England, holding a bouquet of weeds, shouting it from the rooftops like a madman and I still would’ve said yes. D’you know why, George Weasley?” She stared searchingly into his eyes. “Because I love you!”

Tears in his eyes, though he tried valiantly not to show them, he hugged her tight; his fiancé, his Hermione, his soon-to-be-wife.

When George Weasley married the love of his life, only his father and brother-in-law sat in the chairs placed for family. His friends were there, were happy for him, but his family couldn’t support him as they were meant to. He stood before a minister, held her hands in his tight, almost as if he was scared she too would leave him behind. Her thumbs stroked his palms back and forth, calming and soothing him. She wore her voluminous hair down, just as he’d told her in the past he liked. With curls that refused to be tamed flying in all directions, framing her sweet face, she stood before him in long pearl dress robes, ethereal.

He hardly heard a word the man said, going on about sacred vows and the history of marriages, something he was sure Hermione was delighted to hear all about, paying keen attention to every knowledgeable word he said. George, however, was happy just to watch the interest flit across her face, her teeth nibble thoughtfully at her lip and her brow quirk and knit intelligently. It was only as she turned toward him, waiting, that he knew it was time for him to share his vows.

He took a deep breath, not entirely uncomfortable with the attention being paid to him but rather out of sorts with sharing his feelings aloud, where in the past so many had only seen his humorous side.

He squeezed her hands, partly for reassurance, and then spoke from the heart. “I can’t promise I won’t blow the lab up one day or that we may never get sued for some of the mischief I cook up for the masses. I can’t assure you that I’ll keep my dashing good looks or that I won’t embarrass you from time to time.” He grinned lightly. “But I can promise that I’ll always keep you on your toes, that you’ll never forget to laugh or relax, and that I’ll love you as much tomorrow and all the tomorrows that we have, just the same as I do today.” He lifted her hands to his chest as if she alone held his heart in her palms. “You are the light to my dark, the law to my mischief, the frown to my smile. Were Fred here he would be proud of me, of us, and he would steal you for the first dance, make jokes that you only loved me because I looked like him, and unabashedly hope to steal you away. But in the end, I’ve found you and I vow to keep you, for as long as we both shall live.”

Sniffling, she nodded at him appreciatively and with a warm grin, he kissed her knuckles before lowering their hands between them once more.

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips at him. “I was prepared to laugh, not cry!” she exclaimed. “But then, that’s just you, isn’t it?” Her mouth quirked to a smile. “You’re always surprising me, in only the best of ways. When I think one thing, you do another. When I’m certain I have you figured, you change and grow and do something so masterfully brilliant that I’m in complete awe.” Grinning freely now, she stared up at him sweetly. “When once I hated the undefined, the uncertainty, I find I love it with you. With you I know I’m always safe, always loved, and that come what may you will continue to be there, to brighten my day, my life… my heart.” She bit her lower lip, inhaling shakily. “You are the laughter in my life and without you I fear I would never know what incredible a life it was. So I promise, with all of myself, that I will love, chastise and create with you until death do us part.”

He wanted to hug her; screw the rules, he wanted to kiss her. He didn’t need to wait long, as the minister was pronouncing them husband and wife and before he’d even had the words “You may now—“ out of his mouth, George had gathered her into his arms and slanted his mouth across hers for a breathtaking, marriage-sealing, life-altering, earth-shattering, heart-skipping kiss of massive proportions.

Only the whistles, claps and catcalls broke them apart as he stared dazed and beyond happy at his beloved wife.

Soon, they were being drawn into hugs and congratulations before George was shouting, “And now to celebrate with massive amounts of alcohol and horrible dancing!” With laughter, they followed him to the festivities where he forgot all about fighting with family and feuds over misunderstood so-called betrayals. He danced with Hermione until their feet were sore and they could hardly breathe through their laughter. And after waving goodbye to all of his friends and the family that stuck by them, he apparated home with his wife, content to enjoy a lifetime with her alone.

One and a half years later, alone meant them plus one.

His first son was born late in the night, waking them up with a sudden painful spasm that had Hermione jolting up out of bed and shaking him so hard his teeth rattled. Nineteen hours in the delivery room, the both of them exhausted, Frederick Allen Weasley was born into the world with a mop of dark hair and a wail loud enough to wake the long-dead family member he was named after. Arthur, Harry and Lee waited impatiently in St. Mungo’s to see his and her precious son, all looking tired and uncomfortable. When they set eyes on the wiggling mass of arms and legs they collectively sighed.

“Tiny, in’t he?” George asked, his voice unnaturally soft.

Harry swallowed tightly, looking back and forth from the tiny baby to his half-dozing best mate lying in her hospital bed. “He’s perfect.”

She nodded, smiling gently.

“Dark hair,” Arthur murmured, nodding. “Maybe he’ll avoid the freckles too.”

“Oi! My wife loves my freckles!” George said proudly.

Lee rolled his eyes. “She’s just being nice,” he teased.

“You have freckles?” Hermione asked, feigning bewilderment.

Light laughter filled the room and little Fred squealed with delight at the sound. Seemed he was already on the way to enjoying a happy, joy-filled life.

Watching as his father cradled his grandson, George crossed the room to sit next to his wife, stroking her hair from her face as she looked on affectionately. “I hope you know you’re having the next one,” she told him, turning her eyes to him humorously.

He grinned. “If anybody could accomplish it, it’d be me,” he boasted.

Shaking her head, she took his hand in hers. “You’re the limit, George Weasley.”

“All for you, little swot.”

In the following five years, he’d go on to have two more delightful children. Gillian Harriet Weasley was born early one afternoon, arriving much quicker than her brother had and was as quiet as a mouse, simply staring on inquisitively as she passed from healer to medi-witch to father and mother. George swore from the moment he saw her she’d have her mum’s eyes and his nose. She was beautiful.

His last son was unexpected and came into the world like a man on a mission. The contractions started at dinner and he was born about time for dessert, kicking up a storm and only content when he was being held by his parents. Callum Arthur Weasley was impatient, prone to random fits of laughter and utterly fascinated with flying.

George was more than content with his life, often talking aloud to the memory of his twin about how what he’d never expected was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. With all of the store’s success, the many brilliant tricks and pranks he’d created, he’d been what he considered fulfilled for some time. But with Hermione and his children he found a new level of success, a new range of contentment. With her by his side, he was sure he could accomplish anything, and with his children there to help, no doubt they really could.

Like their parents, Fred, Gillian and Callum were brilliant, adventurous, mischievous and insatiable in their quest for knowledge. They were protective of their family, their friends and their siblings, always ready with a vengeful prank on hand for any who crossed their path. They loved the shop like a second home, knowing each and every gadget by heart and enjoying the pitch and sale their father gave to customer after customer who walked through the door. They grew used to their dad coming in with bizarre side effects due to some mistake or another and they didn’t bat an eye the first time the shop blew skyward. Instead, they drew up blueprints, each one of them, on how they thought the next store should look.

“Gillian, love, your father’s not a big fan of pink or purple… especially in a polka dot pattern,” George told her gently.

“Oh but daddy, they match the floors, don’t you see?” she pouted hopefully.

“Yes, dear.” He grimaced. “And my head hurts just looking at it.”

She grinned. “That’s the idea, see. It’s a prank all its own. They’ll be so dizzy they’d buy anything thrust in front of them as long as it meant getting their wits back!”

Laughing, George shook his head. “You, my dear, are never to be messed with.”

Grinning, she lifted her chin swottily. “Best tell Callum that, he’s been trying for ages.” With that, she walked off back to her crayons and continued with her drawing.

Callum worked on his for weeks.

“Cal, son…” He quirked a brow. “Is that a prank shop or a quidditch store?”

Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he replied, “It’s a prank quidditch store…”

Thinning his eyes, George said, “Explain.”

“Well… It’ll have trick brooms, vanishing snitches, bludgers that turn into pygmy puffs and won’t let go… goal posts that move and brooms that have a mind of their own.” He smirked up at his father. “Can you imagine?”

With a chuckle, he patted his youngest son’s shoulder. “Your mother would have herself a fit.”

Callum shrugged lightly. “I figure if she won’t let me play Quidditch, why shouldn’t I have a little fun with the players?”

“She’ll let you… You just have to prove your case.”

With a frown, he tipped his head. “How?”

“What does mum like more than a test?” Fred piped up knowingly.

“Reading?” Callum replied, stumped.

Rolling his eyes, Fred shook his head. “Prepare a flying test, show her just how good you are, she can’t fight you on it if you prove her wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

Excited, Callum nodded. “It’ll have to be intricate, a little dangerous, but not so much that I scare her worse…” Head ducked in concentration, he shuffled off to plan.

“You got a picture for me too?” George asked his eldest.

With a smirk reminiscent of his uncle, Fred shook his head. “I have a vision, and I guarantee you’ll like it.”

Leaning forward, George nodded. “Go on…”

All three of their children went to Hogwarts, made prefect, and graduated with at least nine OWL’s a piece. Callum was captain of Gryffindor’s quidditch team after playing from his second year on. Fred was headboy in his seventh year, doing Ravenclaw and his parents proud. Gillian was just as efficient as her mum had been in school, having her homework done before it was even assigned and working as a teacher’s aid to the Potions professor during her seventh year. He hadn’t been surprised in the least when she went into Slytherin house and was nothing but proud of her all through her Hogwarts years.

George watched his children grow, stood side-by-side with his wife as they were shaped into the cunning and brilliant people he knew they’d be. And each day, he thanked whatever brought his wife to him and gave him this life he so treasured. While his own family might not have been as present as he would’ve liked, he never let that get in the way of his life and the lives of those he held close. He was supportive when Callum became a chaser for Puddlemere United, marrying his fellow teammate, Jaydeen, when he was just twenty years old. He stood tall and proud when Fred went to Muggle college and received a bachelor degree in business courses, taking both his wizarding and muggle knowledge to become one of the most highly acclaimed business owners in all of Britain. And he was damn happy when Gillian worked hard in Auror training, making headlines and earning her way up, ever closer to her goal of Head Auror.

And all the while, his love for Hermione never waned. She continued to argue with him over pranks she found unfitting just as often as she helped him twist and tweak a new product for the shelves. She worked her way through the Ministry with no help from anyone else, making a name for herself as a strong supporter of creature rights. As the years passed, she became more and more passionate. When the children were out of school and starting their lives, he often whisked her away to exotic cities, simply handing her a tourist book and following along happily as she went sightseeing, telling him all the history of each place.

Standing in the middle of the Roman coliseum, she danced in circles, wiggling her toes into the dirt delightedly. “D’you know… I’ve seen things and been places that some could only dream of…” she said, opening her eyes to look up at him. “I’m standing in a piece of history, breathing the air that gladiators once did.” She shook her head, astonished. “Some mornings, I wake up and I wonder… Was it all a dream?” She wrinkled her nose. “Everything, from age eleven until now, it’s been… magical.” She laughed lightheartedly. “And you are the most incredible part.”

He shook his head, making to disagree. He had a list of accomplishments a mile long that were all her own.

“After all these years, you still haven’t learned not to disagree with me?” She tutted, raising a brow.

With a greedy grin and suggestively thinned eyes, he strode toward her. “Maybe I like the consequences of arguing with you…” Stroking her face, he buried a hand deep into her hair. “You have to admit, little swot… you’re terribly sexy when you’re mad…” He pulled her against him, his fingers sliding down her back with practiced ease. He knew every erogenous spot on her body, could have her panting and begging within seconds. “Flushed, hair alight with anger, body vibrating…”

She muffled a moan, her arms sliding around his waist.

Tugging on her hair, he drew her head back until they were face to face once more, her body arced against him tightly. “Close your eyes.”

Lids fell without restraint and just as quickly, he apparated them to their hotel room and walked her backwards until she was sprawled across their bed, her breathing already quick with anticipation. He pulled his shirt off slowly, smirking down at her. “All these years and you haven’t learned that I know each and every button to push, love?”

With a growl, she reached out, caught his belt and yanked him on top of her before rolling him onto his back and straddling his waist. She had her sundress up and off in a flash before pinning his shoulders down with her hands. “Remember, tit for tat.”

Sitting up abruptly, he caught her with his arms before tearing the strap of her bra apart with his teeth. “I’ve never played fair.”

She grinned. “S’all right, I like you dirty.”

Growing up, he couldn’t help but wonder how a man stayed with one woman alone his entire life. He’d seen the love between his parents and had to wonder how it remained so strong, what kept their love going all those years. But when he and Hermione first kissed, first made love, first laughed together, truly, he couldn’t imagine sharing those moments with another. Some days, he couldn’t fathom what his life might’ve been like. He woke with his arm wrapped tight around her, just as it had been every morning for more years than he could count. He’d breathe in her scent mixed with the dewy air and relax, lying in a peaceful half-sleep. She would begin wiggling a few moments after, a sign he knew meant she’d wake up soon. She’d roll over, snuggle her face against his chest and sigh. As dawn rose outside their window, her eyes fluttered, gaze finding his naturally, and with that came the knowledge that today was another day spent in the life of George and Hermione Weasley. He couldn’t ask for better.

On their fiftieth anniversary, he felt as spry as he had when he first met her and he didn’t mind telling his friends and family that either. They celebrated with a party in the field their tree overlooked. Floating candles all around, drinks and food covered a number of tables and a large group of people came together to congratulate their accomplishment. Just as they had fifty years prior, they danced and laughed until the both of them were bone tired. It was only as her eyes began to drift shut that he whisked her back home, sharing a bath with her in their large tub.

With her head against his shoulder, long hair hanging down his back, she stared up at him exhaustedly. “Did you think we’d make it this far?” she wondered on a yawn.

“This and farther,” he replied stroking her flesh with a damp cloth. Her arm lifted, dripping wet, and curled around the back of his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “I’m so happy,” she told him, her brow knit. “There was a time when I couldn’t imagine happiness this great.”

Kissing her neck he let the cloth fall from his grasp and simply cradled her close. “Did you see Fred? Flirting with the Barr girl?”

Hermione grinned slowly. “Did you see how she looked at him?”

“Like he hung the stars,” George agreed.

“Mm.” Rolling over so she was flush with him, chest to chest, she kissed the tip of his nose. “Like I’ve looked at you for a half a century now.”

He smirked. “Good reason to. I actually did manage to keep my dashing good looks.” With a laugh, he turned his head side-to-side to show her his handsome profile.

Laughing, she buried her face in his neck. “I love you.”

With a light sigh, he nodded. “I love you too, little swot.”

When Hermione Weasley, at the bright age of 129, fell asleep in the arms of her husband and never woke, George had to prepare her funeral by himself. Partly, because he was possessive wanting to keep her to himself and prove he could be just as strong as she’d want him to. And also because his father had passed a decade before and so wouldn’t be there to knock sense into him. His children had families of their own and George didn’t want to burden them anymore than what he must. And so it was a warm July morning when family and friends gathered to bury his beloved wife.

He looked on through old brown eyes, his grey-orange brows furrowed in a heavy frown. “She expects me to laugh,” he told them all quietly. “In fact, she made me promise that I wouldn’t shed a tear, wouldn’t let anybody else either…” He licked chapped lips, fiddled with his robes as he felt uncomfortable in the dark, dreary clothes. His shoulders were stooped not from age but a once bright life now sorrowful. “There’ve been few days in my life where a laugh wasn’t second-nature. My brother, my father, and now…” He stared sadly at the mahogany casket before him. “My wife.”

Distantly, he recognized the signature red heads, now faded so much with age, that were dusting the crowd. His daughter Gillian with her fiery hair covering her face as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder; his son Callum whose once signature orange locks were now a faded blonde. He saw Charlie, tanned skin like leather, beaten and weathered with the Romanian sun. Bill hadn’t been able to make it, but he sent his heartfelt condolences and was arriving the following week to see to it that George coped. Ron, Parvati, Ginny and Harry stood together, their collective children on either side of them, red and dark hair mix-matched throughout. It was the uncertain mass of his mother on the outskirts of the funeral, her hands twisting and fiddling with a handkerchief, that constantly drew his eyes, however.

“We were twenty-six years old when we got together…” His lips turned up faintly. “She was a bossy know-it-all who’d been pranked by a co-worker and she wanted both him and the world to realize that she wasn’t the witch to mess with…” He shook his head. “I took one look at her beautiful, vengeful face and decided I had to know her better.”

He pinched the length of his nose, his face bowed for a moment, as if he was collecting his thoughts. With a thick clearing of his throat, he faced them once more. “She liked to remind me that our story wasn’t quite the Once upon a time… that most would hope for… We had our problems; my family wasn’t the most supportive, we lost…” His jaw clenched a moment before finally admitting aloud, “We lost our first babe due to stress, and…” He swallowed tightly, trying to force a smile. “I blew myself up so many times, it’s a shock she outlived me…”

He knocked an anxious fist against the platform he stood before, uncomfortable with the emotion welling inside him. “But y’know… I loved her beyond everything else… Beyond pranks and nasties and the… the warmth I always felt when something truly hilarious had happened at the expense of someone else…” He grinned vaguely. “She had this way of… of telling it like it was and being so completely certain about everything… She’d always tell me… She’d say,” He cleared his throat before imitating her voice exactly, “George Weasley, you utter buffoon, if I have to dig you out of the rubble one more time, I swear I’ll divorce you and marry some stuffy suit just for the lack of stress!” He laughed, a choked, raspy noise. “She never did though…” He shook his head. “And Gods, I would’ve done anything to stop her if she’d ever meant it.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocked back and forth on his heels and stared out at the mass of people watching on with pitying expressions.

“I know what you’re all thinking… Poor George, whatever will he do without his bright wife to carry him on…?” He smiled. “No worries, mates… I’ve got this one handled.” He shrugged. “See I always knew that eventually she wouldn’t be there… So I learned all her tricks early.” He thinned his eyes with humorous mischief. “I learned each and every cleaning charm, where she hid my socks and I found the box of recipes she’d filched off her mom…” His smile faded slowly as they chuckled for him. “So don’t you worry about me… She might’ve been my everything but… she was also too bright for her own good… Made me promise, vow, that I wouldn’t go on ‘til it was my time too… That I’d stick around long as I could to keep you lot heavy in hilarity…” He nodded. “So appreciate the gift she gave you… If it were up to me, I’d say piss on ya’ll and I’d fly my broom all the way up to heaven just to see her squirm and shout about flying safety.” With that, he nodded his head and stepped away from the podium, taking his place next to his eldest son, Fred, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

George didn’t listen to the rest of the guests or whatever the minister might’ve had to say. Instead, he waited for the talking to stop and stood stiffly as his wife was magically lowered into the ground. People slowly began to walk away, apparating back to his place, no doubt, where they were meant to have a party in her celebration. He could hardly fathom spending much more time around people. He’d been pushed into retirement within the last few years and while his grandson Elbert, eldest son of Gillian, had taken over his business, George was no slouch in the experiment department. He spent most of his time in the basement, cooking up something or other before hurrying up to show Hermione whatever he’d come up with then. The last decade had mostly been he and Hermione; traveling, relaxing, whatever have them.

It was as he was contemplating whether he could get away with simply apparating straight for his basement and avoiding his guests that his mum finally made her way over. She’d aged so much. He hadn’t seen her since they’d stood in this same place, burying his father. He didn’t speak, simply stared listlessly at the coffin. She struggled to say something, wringing her hands uncomfortably.

“If you’re here to ask for forgiveness, stop.”

She paused, her expression stricken, face turning red as her eyes watered.

“I forgave you a long time back.” He shrugged. “She asked me to.”

His mother stepped closer, not sure what to say, how to react.

“I was angry with you for a long time. You…” He sighed. “You missed out on so much because of your damn pride…” Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head. “Over a century went by without you and now… I think I need you most.” His eyes fell closed, a tear escaping off his lashes. “I want to hate you. Want to blame you somehow… But, she wouldn’t want that. She…” His throat tightened too much for words any longer.

“Oh George,” his mother sobbed. “I… I don’t know what to… I’m so sorry… My little boy, my…” She hurried to him, gathered him in her arms and rocked him back and forth. “I can’t tell you how… I never meant to… I just… I was so…” She sniffled, starting sentences only to leave them dangling unfinished.

He cried; unable to stop himself, he choked on air and shook violently as he let her hold him up. One hundred and thirty years old and he sobbed his heart out like a child. Everything he wanted to say, how much he needed her, how lost he was, how he didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t even get the words out.

“I know, I know…” she murmured, stroking his grey hair and rubbing his back as they fell unceremoniously upon the grass next to Hermione’s open grave.

Minutes, possibly hours, they sat there with nothing but loss and pain between them. And finally, when it seemed he could express no more, he leaned back, stared sightlessly ahead and smiled rather oddly, all because he knew she’d want him to. With his mum’s hand in his, they left for his house, to celebrate the life of a witch he’d loved endlessly. Cheers and drinks were raised all through the night, until the early rays of morning, in recognition of a friend, a mother, a grandmum, and wife.

The day Bill Weasley arrived to see his brother he stepped into the house with an ominous feeling creeping up his spine. The lower half was empty, the two-storey silent, and he took the stairs two at a time with knowing dawning in his mind. As he stepped through George’s bedroom door, he wasn’t surprised. George Weasley lay on the right side of his bed, an arm spread along the left as if reaching. His face was pale, near blue, and a peaceful smile graced his face. The Healer’s would say it was natural causes, simple age, and nobody would contend them. However, Bill had decided as he stared down at his younger brother that it was not his many 130 years catching up to him but in fact a broken heart. While Hermione might’ve told her husband not to follow hastily but to go on until his time, she hadn’t taken into consideration that his time might in fact be quite connected to her own. With the knowledge that his children were safe and content, his business continuing to flourish, his past with his mum now settled and his wife waiting for him, George Weasley had done the most logical thing. He died.

If ever there was man, a wizard, a husband capable of deciding when he would go, it was him, and so he had.

The day of George Weasley’s funeral, everybody he loved, cherished, and knew would be there to say goodbye. His mother, no longer heavy with a heart of discontent, could stand before her son and know that they had made their amends. Family and friends could not shed tears as they knew that he was happy where he was. And so laughter and pride swelled the group; friends and family would dance and cheer. As the life of George Weasley was never wasted, never lost… He had lived it as he wanted to, with his Little Swot and their once upon a time come true.

Happily Ever Afterlife - T - Cedric/Hermione - OneShot

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 04:45:50 GMT

Title: Happily Ever Afterlife
Music: Jessica Simpson - I Wanna Love You Forever
Genre: Romance/Humor/Spiritual
Rating: Teen
Relationship: Hermione/Cedric
Summary: Death isn't what she thought it would be... But it has an incredible promise if she's willing to take a chance.

Happily Ever Afterlife
by: atruwriter

She always imagined that when she died, the people who met her there would more than likely be those lost in earlier battles that led to the war. Her mind would conjure the images of Remus and Tonks and Dumbledore, too. And they'd calm her with their reassuring smiles and open arms. They'd assure her that Harry and Ron and all the others she treasured so would be fine. That right then, seconds after her demise, they had conquered and she was free to die without guilt.

She'd heard it said many times that death was a new journey but she'd been certain that, logically, her body and mind and magic would die and she would simply dissipate over the years. Her earthly shell would bow down against life's natural chain and she'd rot in the ground in some overpriced box. Somewhere, in the recesses of her thoughts, she had hoped there was a heaven. That if a world like that of wizards and witches and unimaginable magic could exist, then why not a heavenly afterlife?

But as her soul escaped her body, it did not rise above her, lingering in the air to look down on the bloody mess of the battlefield. Nor did it fly up into the stars and explode into its own cosmic sign. She didn't float into the clouds where Gods sat watching over them or bask in the wisdom and love of an almighty Lord.

Instead, she was whisked away through her memories. The first time she met Harry and Ron, when she spotted Crookshanks and he mewled at her rather acceptingly, when her parents kissed her goodbye and hello, her first crush, her first skinned-knee, her last kiss, her last smile, her most momentous and disastrous occasions, until quite suddenly, as if it had all happened in but a blink of an eye, it was she stood there, surrounded by empty blackness.

There were footsteps, or what she thought must be footsteps. Coming closer now. And for some absurd moment she wondered if this was her maker, come to tell her that it was all done and over and she would simply be. No breathing or reading or eating or laughing. Just be; an unused, unknown organism with no purpose at all.

But then, the figure became clearer and she squinted her eyes as she was now beginning to believe that death had not come knocking but she had in fact, simply bumped her head.

"Diggory?" she muttered in muted shock.

He smiled, the curve of his lips seeming rather unfit for their surroundings.

"Even in death you can't call me by my first name?" he queried.

Her brow furrowed. "So I am dead then?"

"That would be what that green light was," he drawled.

She pursed her lips, unamused.

He let out a light chuckle and while she hated to admit it, the thick rumble that exited his chest with such vigor actually made her feel a little lightheaded. Years ago, back when they were both alive, she'd harbored a very tiny fancy for the former Hufflepuff. He wasn't her usual type, although until this moment she hadn't realized she'd even had a type. He was much... er, prettier than those she'd previously liked. With his always-flushed cheeks and his crooked grin. Those brown eyes with flecks of gold that reminded her of the Hufflepuff colors. And... Well, as she'd said, it wasn't the time to be thinking of this. Should there even be emotion now that she was dead?

"So what now then?" she asked, planting her hands on her hips.

"Always to the point, aren't you Granger?"

She quirked a brow and waited impatiently.

He continued to grin at her, making her nervous. "What do you think happens now?"

She sighed. "Is this a guessing game? I figured death would be much more peaceful."

His brows rose slightly. "You find me aggravating then?"

"Not aggravating, exactly. But..." She huffed. "Oh do just hurry it up. Shouldn't you be reassuring me or something?"

He chuckled. "So you know how death works despite my being far more dead than you've been?"

"I don't believe being dead longer than me should really be something you boast over," she replied primly.

"Well if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have had to wait around here for three years."

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me? I had absolutely no hand in your death." Her eyes narrowed. "And I'll thank you never to accuse me of something so horrid again. If I had my wand on me..."

He shook his head. "You misunderstand completely."

"I... I what?" She frowned. "I don't think there was really any other way to interpret your blatant accusation that I forced you into death somehow!"

He smiled that irritatingly sweet smile of his. "I'm here because I've been waiting for you..."

"W-waiting for me?" She looked down, confused now. She hated that feeling with a passion. "But why? We hardly knew each other and I'd think there was someone far more equipped for the job... I could list a few off the top of my head right now and-"

His chuckle interrupted her and she once more felt as if she'd been left out of something much larger.

"All right, I give in... What?"

He stared at her a moment. "What do you think happens when you die, Granger?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Exactly what kind of timeline are we following here? Because I don't think you want to hear about the decomposition process..."

His laughter was really beginning to irritate her. "Where do you think you go?" he clarified.

She looked around her with a sour expression on her face. "Quite obviously, I believe I'm asking you that question..."

He grinned once more and she wasn't sure why, but she felt torn between smiling back and wanting to slap that silly smile right off his face.

"Did you know that in some cultures they believe that when a person dies they move on to the next plain of existence? So there's a good possibility that you lived far back when witches and wizards had first evolved." He smirked slightly. "Perhaps you're the original Rowena Ravenclaw... I wouldn't put it past you."

She felt a blush bloom on her cheeks but cleared her throat and nodded for him to continue.

"In any case, it's time for you to start your next journey..."

Her brows narrowed. "Why tell me then? Why not just send me off?"

"Each journey is different. Each person heading there is going to experience something they haven't in the past. But it's not forced upon them. You have a choice... You can either take this new life and live it from the beginning or you can see what else the afterlife offers. You can see if there really is a God. Or if, in fact, there's more than one."

Biting her lip, she looked around. "And how do I know which to pick?"

He nodded, smiling as if she'd just asked the right question. "You can either go blindly forward, walk through this darkness until you find whatever it is you're looking for... Or..." He quirked a brow. "Or you can see everything that your next life is meant to be made of right now. In just a split second, you'll see everything. From childhood to death, love and loss, friends and companions... And if you choose that path, then you go on to be born again, in a world you won't know, where these memories are gone entirely..."

He stared at her searchingly. "There'll be no Harry or Ron or any of that if you leave... And when they pass on, they'll have that same choice. They can go on to the next life or they can decide that this was their last, that they need no other..."

She swallowed, this really did seem quite larger than she ever expected. "And I can see this life now... But I don't necessarily have to live it?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Of course," he assured. He lifted a hand to her. "You can see it all and then... choose."

The expression on his face, it was so... She couldn't explain it. It was as if he needed her to see this life; as if saying no now would ruin something for him. His eyes were so intense and she swore, for just a moment, the gold in his eyes burned brightly. He wasn't smiling now; he was only waiting with bated breath to see her next move.

Her hand twitched at her side. If she saw her next life would it make it harder to say no? A world without Ron and Harry felt... wrong. But then, they'd have this choice too wouldn't they? And she'd done her duty until her dying day. She had no reason to walk this darkness, searching for something that might not be there. She was only going to look, there was no harm in that...

Reaching out, she took his hand. She felt a shiver run down her spine; his fingers were so warm.

A bright light shone in her eyes and she blinked rapidly, wanting to lift her hand and shield herself. And then... there was crying; screaming wails, really. And a Muggle doctor was staring at her as he seemed to lift her high above his head.

"It's a girl!" he exclaimed.

There was a flurry of movement all around and she was being bathed and fretted over by nurses before all of a sudden, she was being handed over to a woman. She was pale and weary and there were tears falling from her blue eyes as she gazed down at Hermione with that same look she saw pass her mother's face each time she returned for Hols from Hogwarts.

"She's beautiful... Absolutely stunning. Look at her, Henry. Just... Just look at her."

A man came forward there, looking down at her with red-rimmed eyes. He righted his crooked glasses and sniffled before nodding. "Yeah... She'll be a heartbreaker, all right."

The woman giggled, shaking her head back and forth. "What will we name her?"

"You said you wanted to name her after your mother, dear..." His nose wrinkled with distaste but he tried to hide it.

"No," the woman disagreed. "No, I think she deserves a name all her own."

"How about..."

Suddenly, they were gone and for a reason she couldn't explain, Hermione felt her heart tug and she wanted to be back with them. She swore she felt that woman's arms around her, cuddling her like her mother had when she was just a little girl. She missed the warmth, the embracing safety in those arms.

"Come lay down, dear!"

"Oh but it's snowing," Hermione heard herself say, even felt her lips move. And from where she stood, she swore she could see the down-like snowflakes fluttering to the ground with haste.

"I can see that. But you have to get ready. You haven't even changed out of your pj's!"

"But they're so warm, mummy. And I don't like that dress. It's pink!"

"You loved pink last week."

"Well I don't now!" she replied, frowning. "Pink is for girls."

"Honey, you are a girl."

"Well I don't wanna be!" Stomping her foot, she hurried over and hopped under the covers, pulling them over her head. "I wish I was a boy, just like daddy, and I'd wear pants every day! And you know what?" She didn't wait for a reply. "They'd never be pink!"

Her mother sighed, shaking her head.

Hermione's face burrowed against her pillow with rebellion. She felt as though she'd never turn her attention to pink again except to show just how much she hated it by pretending to vomit!

Once more, she felt it all drift away and she was suddenly standing next to a bus stop, holding a backpack at her feet and tugging on her dress, wishing it was much longer... and a t-shirt and pants. She frowned down at herself. Today was her first day of grade three, so why did she have to dress up? She'd be in the same class with the same kids and the same teacher... So what was the big deal? She rolled her eyes to herself, wishing the day was over and she could be at home, digging holes in the backyard with her best pal ever, her dog Roland. And then she'd take all that dirt and she mix it with water and make it into a big, giant, huge chocolate cake and she'd feet it to her sister Jean because Jean was the baby of the family and she always did what she told her to do.

Just as she was about to laugh over how much Jean would pretend to like it, she heard a sudden noise and turned abruptly.

There was a young boy kneeling on the ground, trying to pick up all of his stuff after it fell out of his hands. There were books and pencils and nice, newly-sharpened pencil crayons all over the place. He tossed his gym shorts over his shoulder with a sigh and tried to stuff all of his pencil crayons back in the torn box.

Scuffing the pavement with her shoe, she walked over to help, kneeling down and grabbing up all the papers that had fallen out. With precise shuffling, she got them all back into order and closed the yellow binder around them. He sure liked yellow, she noticed. His shirt was a bright yellow and so were his sneakers.

After everything was put back together, he stood up wobbily and flicked his head, getting his sandy brown hair out of his eyes. "Thanks," he said, smiling crookedly.

She nodded, suddenly feeling a weird tightness in her stomach. He didn't look like the other boys in her class. He had pink cheeks like he'd just been running all over the playground and brown eyes that had his favorite color in them, more yellow. And he smiled differently too.

"Yeah..." she replied, shaking her head. She handed over his things and then took a step back, turning toward the bus stop pole. "Are you new?" she asked.

He nodded, still smiling funny at her. "Yeah... We just moved here."

"Oh..." She tugged at her dress uncomfortably. "You'll like it. The school's really fun and the teacher's nice."

He held his things tight to his chest and looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

Uncomfortably, she shifted back and forth on her feet. With a sigh, she asked, "What?"

His cheeks seemed to get pinker then. "I... Um..." He turned away, spotted the bus coming around the corner and then looked at her again. "You're really pretty... in that dress, I mean." He turned away again and she was so stunned, she nearly didn't get in the bus when it pulled up.

Maybe pink wasn't so bad.

As she stepped on the first stair of the bus, it faded away.

She sighed, glaring down at her younger sister. "You're not doing it right. You have to put the clips in just so or they'll look messy." Huffing, she directed her sister Jean to sit down on the stool. "Here, let me do it."

She grumbled to herself as she carefully did Jean's hair so it would look nice for her first day of first grade.

"D'you think they'll like me?" Jean wondered, tugging on her shirt.

"Of course they will. And if they don't, then they're just silly little dum-dum's. Isn't that right?"

Giggling, Jean nodded her head, covering her smiling mouth with her hands.

"Oh look! Now you've ruined your hair. I'll have to do it again!"

Jean simply kicked her legs back and forth. "Can I be as smart as you?"

She looked down at her little sister with a lifted brow. "You can be smarter. But you have to read lots and lots and you have to listen to everything the teacher says and you can't wear pink."

"Why not?"

"Because pink makes boys notice you and you don't want that. If you're smart, you don't need boys. You have your brain. Besides... boys are silly!" She made a face and then smiled as Jean giggled once more.

"But your friends with a boy... And he's not silly, is he? I think he's very pretty and I like him."

She rolled her eyes. "He's not pretty; he's a boy."

"But he has pretty pink cheeks and he has nice eyes too!"

Frowning, she shook her head. "He's just a boy. And friend or not, he's silly like all the rest."

"I don't think so," Jean said, shaking her head. "I think one day you'll think he's pretty just like me."

"I won't!" she declared hotly.

Jean only smiled.

Suddenly, she wasn't so young and she wasn't with her sister.

She was tapping her pencil on her desk. She'd already finished the test and she felt very sure that after checking it three times, she was in fact going to get an A. At least she'd better; she spent her entire weekend studying and ignoring calls from her friends. She loved History but she also loved spending time with Holly and Rachel.

"Psst..."

She lifted her head, eyes narrowed.

"Psst..."

She turned left and then right before suddenly feeling a tap on her shoulder. Turning in her seat a little, she looked back to see a boy grinning at her. "What'd you get for number seven?"

Rolling her eyes, she replied, "I won't help you cheat."

He chuckled under his breath. "I was done twenty minutes ago... I just want to know if you did as good as me."

Her jaw fell open.

He only laughed again.

Glaring at him, she turned back in her seat.

Five seconds later, he had the audacity to tap her shoulder again.

Turning back around, she hissed, "If you don't stop, we'll both get detention!"

He didn't look the least bit upset. "If it's the only way I'm going to get you to spend any time with me, my grades can suffer a little."

She felt a blush reminiscent of many times before fuse her cheeks. "If you get me stuck in detention, I swear-"

"Is there a problem here?" the teacher said rather loudly.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

She just knew he was grinning.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the middle of what looked like a high school prom. There were bright colorful lights all over and the gym was all trussed up. A live band was playing in the background and there was a stage set up to the side for couples to get their pictures taken. She could feel the corsage on her wrist and her eyes fell to the long butter-yellow gown she was wearing. Her chest tightened; she felt like a princess. She wondered how unusual it would look if she suddenly started twirling around.

A hand on the small of her back was the only thing to stop her from trying. She looked up to see a familiar crooked smile staring back at her.

"Are we going to dance or do I have to drag you out there?"

She frowned. "My feet hurt already."

"So take your heels off."

"But that will make you too tall for me," she muttered, shaking her head.

He laughed lightly. "I can try shrinking or I can lift you up..."

Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't!"

His eyes glittered with amusement. "Shrink or lift you?"

"Either," she deadpanned.

Shaking his head, he took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor. His arm slid around her waist, holding her tight against him and she found her cheek rested against his chest quite comfortably. She could hear his heart over the music and she found its rhythm much more intoxicating. Her eyes fell to half mass as they swayed back and forth and made a tiny circle. She felt his chin on the top of her head and if she were at all girly, she might've told him to stop so he didn't mess up her hair. But he could probably render her bald in that moment and she wouldn't care so long as they just kept dancing.

"Hey!" she heard and opened her eyes to see a grinning red-head staring back at her. "Have you seen Lucas? He said he was going to get me something to eat..." She pouted at her. "He's so weird though, he probably ran off to some fast-food joint for me."

"I'm sure he's here somewhere, Rach..." She frowned then. "You're still hungry? We went out for dinner beforehand..."

Rachel sighed. "Fish and chips didn't fill me up at all..."

"Could've fooled me... You ate half of mine, too."

Rachel simply rolled her eyes. "Hey, there's Holly, maybe she's seen him." She grinned suddenly. "Did you see her with Greg? He's had a crush on her for ages!"

She smiled, watching her friend rush off toward the raven-haired girl dressed in a dark green cocktail dress.

Left alone with him once more, she felt her heartbeat race slightly. What was the matter with her? They were just friends... So what if he'd grown up to be incredibly handsome? Never losing that smile of his or those naturally flushed cheeks. So what if he made butterflies dance in her stomach or her palms sweaty just with a laugh? They were just... friends. And that was good. Great. Fine. It was how it was supposed to be.

He drew back from her just slightly and she found herself lifting her head to see what he was doing. He grinned down at her with that infectious smile of his. "You know, soon we'll be on completely different campuses... You'll be at Cambridge and I'll be at Oxford and... We'll probably only see each other over holidays but..."

"You sound like you're trying to break up with me," she told him, smiling slightly. "Which must be hard since we're not going out."

"Right, yeah, I... I know that, I just..." He nodded, clearing his throat and giving her a small smile. "It'll just be different... Not seeing you every day."

She smiled. "Well we can always write and talk on the phone and... And like you said, we'll have the hols." She chuckled. "I'm sure Jean will like that you come by and visit. She still hasn't stopped fancying you."

He smiled. "I'm very fanciable."

She rolled her eyes. "So I've heard."

"You never know... You might just miss me when you're off getting your high education."

"Hm, maybe." Sighing, she leaned back in and pressed her cheek to his chest again. She knew she'd miss him. She almost felt like she did already.

He squeezed her, his hands running up and down her back soothingly. Her eyes fell closed; he was so warm.

Upon opening them, she was staring at a handsome young man with a warm and very non-crooked smile. "I can't believe I'm meeting your parents."

She returned his smile with a little more hesitance. "Me either..."

"Do you think they'll like me?" he wondered, fiddling with his tie.

"Of course." Reaching up, she swatted his hands away and took his tie from him, undoing it entirely before retying properly.

He grinned thankfully. "Good. I... I really want them to."

"Don't be so nervous, Vince. They'll love you." She wasn't lying; she just knew they'd love him. He was nice and smart and proper. And no doubt her sister would notice he was very handsome and affectionate toward her.

"All right... Well, we should go in before they start to wonder."

Nodding, she took a deep breath and then lifted her hand to knock on the door. It opened mere seconds afterwards and she was greeted by her father's face. Before pulling her into a bear hug, he righted his glasses like always and then drew her in tight. "Oh, you've grown... You used to be so small... I remember when I could throw you over my shoulder like you were nothing."

"Dad..." she sighed affectionately, stepping back. She smiled up at him and then remembering the man behind her, she turned suddenly. "Right, dad, this is Vince, Vince, this is Henry, my dad."

Hands were shook and pleasantries were exchanged, with her dad giving her a sly wink as he closed the door behind them. Rolling her eyes, she shrugged her jacket off and went to look for her mum and sister. She could smell the freshly baked Christmas cookies from where she stood and her mouth watered with the simple memory. As she stepped into the living room, she was assaulted with greetings from cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents. Smiling at them all, she moved to say hello to her mother, who had already risen from her seat on the couch and was hurrying toward her. It was as she was hugging her mum that she spotted a familiar face. Chin perched on her mum's shoulder, she noticed him sitting right next to the fire. He had a present next to him and Jean was on the floor, legs crossed beneath her as she smiled up at him adoringly.

Drawing away, her mum cupped her face affectionately. "Look at you, I feel like it's been years."

She smiled. "I talked to you on the phone yesterday and I was here back in October..."

"Still, it's been months..." She fretted over her lovingly, wrapping an arm around her and bringing her further into the living room. But before she could sit, she spotted her dad returning to the room with Vince and she bypassed the sofa to return to his side.

"Why don't you introduce him to everyone, dear?" her father suggested before moving to stand next to his wife.

"Thanks. Well, Vince, this is... everyone." She smiled uncomfortably. "Everyone, this is Vince. My boyfriend."

There was a sudden roar in chatter and everybody was turning around in their seats to get a good look at him. He smiled charmingly and started talking to whoever it was had gained his attention. She looked over to her mum for a reaction only to find she looked quite confused and was turning to stare at him next to the fireplace. He gave her a half-smile and shook his head.

Confused, she wanted to ask what was going on, but then, it was all gone.

"Who was that bloke? Staring at you half the night..." Vince lifted a thick brow wonderingly.

"You'll have to be more specific," she replied, half-smiling.

"Tall, lanky, spent most of his time trying to run off from your little sister... Ring any bells?"

With a stiff smile, she shrugged. "He's a friend. One I've known since primary school."

"He stared at you a lot..."

Furrowing her brow, she looked over at him. "So?"

"He stared at you like... like I stare at you." His eyes bore into hers searchingly.

Letting out a strangled laugh, she shook her head. "Don't be silly. He's... You were just seeing things. We're close, that's all."

"How close?"

With a roll of her eyes, she replied, "If you're implying what I think you are, this holiday is going to be a lot shorter for you."

"I'm not... Implying what you think I am, I mean. I just..." His hands reached out, stroking her side affectionately. "Just checkin' out the competition, love."

She smiled back at him, wondering if he could see the strain at the corner of her lips. "No competition to speak of, Vince."

With a wink, he sat back away from her and turned on the telly, searching for something sports-oriented to watch. Distracted, he patted the seat next to him for her to take.

There was a moment of hesitance but before she could think it over, she was somewhere else.

"So... How's Vince?"

Turning around, she found herself standing in the living room of her home once more. But the Christmas decorations were now gone and instead she saw a Happy Birthday banner strung across the wall over the unlit fireplace. His crooked smile was dim and the party hat he was supposed to wearing on his head had been pushed back, now only hanging off him by the thin elastic string.

"He's fine," she replied, lifting a shoulder. Vince was back in Cambridge, studying and working. He was sorry he couldn't make it out for her birthday, but there really was so much to do. "What are you doing here? I figured you'd be busy with exams at Oxford..."

"I was." He shrugged. "Some things are more important."

She felt her stomach clench and unexpected tears prick her eyes that she blinked away hastily. "That's sweet of you, I... I don't know what to say."

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth. "I made captain..." He grinned. "For my first year, I really didn't think I'd do anything but sit on the bench. But coach says my love of football rivals even his own, so..."

"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed, beaming.

"Yeah... Yeah, it is..." He cleared his throat before lifting a hand from his pocket. "I've missed you," he admitted rather abruptly. "A lot, actually. And... And I know that this is completely out of place for me to say, but... I hope you miss me too. Because some days I think... All those years ago, when I saw you in that pink dress and... and we were waiting for the bus... I think I fell for you and I never quite stopped..."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "We... We were only eight..."

He half-grinned, nodding. "I know..." He looked up at her, his brow knotted. "And I know how insane it sounds, but... I've known you since you were that little girl who hated pink and... And I know you've changed but some part of you hasn't and I love both parts. I... I wanted to tell you, a long time ago. But then there was college and then Vince and... And I just started to worry that there might never be a right time, so... So here I am and... And I'm confessing love in the worst possible way... Because I'm rambling and you have a boyfriend and you're only here for your birthday, so..." He ran a hand through his hair with distress.

She didn't know what to say. In secondary school, sometimes, she had wondered and hoped and then convinced herself that it was ridiculous. But then, she was in college and... Well, nobody quite had his grin or his way with flustering her. Nobody brushed her hair out of her eyes like he did or make her stomach tighten just my laughing. And she... She really had missed him. So very much. But... he was right. Maybe now wasn't the time and...

And he kissed her.

It seemed he didn't want the moment to quite end at that awkward declaration because his lips were on hers. Smooth and soft and warm they collided with her own so... perfectly. She was certain that for a second, she saw stars. They were there, floating just out of reach, stuck behind her eyelids like shards of glittering glass. And then his lips parted and so did hers, taking in a deep breath before his mouth covered hers once more and his tongue slipped past, tangling and stroking her own. One of his hands rose, buried in her hair, while the other gripped her hip almost desperately. And suddenly, she was that little girl in the pink dress and she was the college girl in the yellow sweater and she was kissing him. Him, who tasted so sweet and warm and like nothing she'd ever tasted before. Better than homemade cookies and an A on an exam. Better than one of her mum's hugs or her dad's reassuring voice. Better than everything she'd ever known or seen or felt.

And then they were parting and their lips were a scant breath apart, the air between them warm against her wet lips. Her eyes opened, stared into his own, and it seemed as though all those gold flecks had taken over and his eyes were nothing but rich with love.

Her lashes fell for just a second, brushing her cheeks, and when they lifted she was staring at him again. Except now he was wearing a tux and she was in a white gown and they were holding hands in front of a priest. And she didn't have to wonder or question; there was no fear or worry. Because this was him and her and this was how it was meant to be.

I love you she mouthed.

And he gave her that crooked grin of hers.

"You may now kiss the bride."

She felt her breath stutter, as if this was the first kiss she'd ever had and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew it was going to be the best. That from here on in, there would be nothing better than his lips against hers.

"Mum! I wanted that cookie!" a shout invaded her ears. Another scene, another moment, years later.

"But this cookie is better," she told him, passing it to him.

"Is not! You're only saying that because I got the good one!"

She sighed. "Don't tease your brother."

"Is she right? Mum? I wanted that cookie! Why do I always get the bad one?"

"No cookie's bad, son. Especially made by your mum."

"Don't let grandmum hear you say that, daddy!" their daughter stage-whispered.

A lop-sided grin appeared. "I'll try my best. Now... who wants to play their old dad in a game of football?"

"I do!"

"Me too!"

"All right, you two against me then... Last one to the backyard has to take out the garbage tonight!"

Laughing, the three of them fled her kitchen and she was left staring out the window, watching them wrestle with each other for the ball. Shaking her head, she smiled to herself. She really couldn't ask for a better family.

She could hear music. Soft and melodic, it seemed to wrap her up and match her heartbeat thump for thump. And her feet were moving, here or there, around and around. Her hand was held tight by another's, one she knew just by the warmth of the fingers threaded with hers. She felt his lips brush her temple and for a moment, she felt like a young woman, fresh and lively. But somehow she knew that when she brought her face back from its comfortable station against his chest, she'd see an older man staring back at her, and in his golden-brown eyes, the reflection of a much older her would stare back.

"Do you think if we're sly about it, we might be able to dance right out of here?" he wondered, voice low against her ear.

She slapped his shoulder admonishingly but grinned anyway. "We can't just skip out. It's our duty to be here."

"They left already and so did our new son-in-law's parents, so why do we have to stick around?" Drawing back, he stared down at her skeptically. "You aren't planning to clean up afterwards, are you? Because we hired people specifically for that."

Pursing her lips, she turned her eyes to the side. "Yes but they never get everything put away properly and I just want to be sure..."

His warm laughter made her stomach squirm and she let out a sigh of both frustration at his amusement and content all the same. "Just one more song and then we'll leave..."

"No dishes or properly arranged table settings you want to deal with?" he teased.

"Shut it or you'll sleep on the couch."

With a lopsided grin, he pulled her back in tight against him. "Two songs and we'll go..."

She sighed, smiling happily.

In the blink of an eye, the wedding and all that it entailed was gone.

"Grandmummy?"

She turned to look down at him, swiping a lock of graying hair from her face. When had she gotten so old? How many years had passed now?

"I told Peter I wanted the last cookie, but he took it anyway..." She stuck her lower lip out for effect.

With a sigh, she shook her head. "There's more in the cupboard, dear. Ask your grandfather to get them down for you."

"Oh but he's playing with daddy outside. He says that he'll let daddy have two points for every goal compared to his one. But I think grampy will still win."

She smiled warmly. "Of course he will, dear. He just likes to let your dad think he might... Nobody else will play him anymore."

"Daddy says one of these days grampy will be so old, he'll just have to win... That or he'll throw in his cleats forever and ever!"

"Did he now?" She smiled. "Well, maybe you should follow after your mum in good sportsmanship, hm?"

Her granddaughter giggled, climbing up to sit next to her on the armchair. "Grandmum, is it true you and grampy have been together a hundred million years?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"A hundred-million and one," she replied dramatically.

"Really?" she squealed.

Laughing, she shook her head. "Do I really look that old?"

"You don't look a day over twenty, love," she heard and looked up just as her husband bent down to kiss her cheek.

She pursed her lips. "You lie but I love you anyway."

He grinned, tossing the ball in the air. "Our son-in-law nearly beat me today."

She lifted a brow. "Mm, doubling his points probably helped."

He simply shrugged. "He was happy enough with it. I let him get a few goals in and he didn't complain."

"You tease the poor man." She shook her head. "He'll never win and we both know it."

"I know it, too!" their granddaughter exclaimed, smiling.

They chuckled.

There was a pain in her chest, she blinked suddenly and when it dissipated she found herself in a hospital bed. "Where am I?"

The man sitting next to her jolted at her voice. He stared at her worriedly. "You're fine." He stood up, stroking her white hair from her forehead. He gave her a soft smile, one that she could see was filled with restrained sadness. "Did you know they have pink blankets here?"

She wrinkled her noise.

He laughed but she could hear the hitch in it. He stared down at her with searching brown eyes, stroking her temple lovingly with his thumb. "Do you remember anything?"

"Just a pain... in my chest."

"You had a stroke..." He shook his head, clenching his eyes closed for a moment. "Nearly gave me one of my own..."

Reaching up, she touched his hand with hers. "I'm fine."

He nodded. "You will be." Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers. "I won't lose you."

"No... You won't."

She felt his tears fall to her cheeks just as her own escaped her eyes.

"Are you awake?"

The hospital was gone and she felt certain the stroke was months, maybe even years, past. Their bedroom was dark with night and she rolled over in his arms to better see him. "I never saw the point in that question," she replied, fingers finding the button on his pajama shirt and playing with it absently.

He grinned crookedly at her.

"You look younger in this light," she murmured.

He chuckled. "You can't see me... You don't have your glasses."

"That could be it too," she admitted.

"How young do I look?"

She rolled her eyes. "Young enough."

His hand stroked her shoulder. "You still look like the girl I fell in love with."

"I was eight then," she replied smiling.

"All right, you look like the girl who fell in love with me."

She was quiet for a moment before saying, "I was eight then too."

He smiled. "So you did like me then? What was it? The yellow sneakers or the yellow shirt?"

She laughed. "Your eyes, actually."

"Really?" he wondered softly.

Staring up at him in the darkness, she really did see a much younger man. Perhaps not eight, but definitely a younger him. "I've always loved your eyes, you know that."

"Mm, but I thought it was just one of my many attractive traits."

Shaking her head, she smiled as she burrowed her face against his chest. "Young as you may look, you're still old."

"You're not getting any younger either."

She nodded against him before querying, "How much time do you think we have?"

"Who says death means we've run out of time?" She felt the rumble of his voice through his chest. "It's just the next journey... Another adventure."

"Can I spend it with you?" She looked up at him hopefully.

Stroking her cheek, he replied, "I don't want to spend it with anyone else."

She smiled. "Then it's settled then."

He grinned. "It is."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

There was light; bright and consuming and suddenly, darkness.

Hermione blinked rapidly, drawing in air as if she hadn't breathed in ages. She looked around, brow furrowed, only to find herself standing next to... To him. But not. It was Cedric... Cedric Diggory. And all the same, it was the him from this new journey. She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. The memories, an entire lifetime's worth...

"That's why you stayed... It's why you waited for me, wasn't it?" She looked up at him. "You saw the same life."

"Not exactly... My life was through my eyes and so... I saw you, wanted you, but knew I couldn't have you. So I waited and then I blurted it out... But I was there for a lot of your life..."

She stared up at him. "You were the best part of my life."

He smiled and just that crooked look to it made her want to kiss him.

"There was no magic," she murmured rather obtusely. "None at all."

"None that the next us would know of..." He shook his head. "You aren't a witch in the coming life."

She frowned. Magic seemed like such a huge part of her. But then... This other her was different, wasn't she?

"So you made your choice then... All those years ago..." She looked up at him. "You decided a life with me was better than whatever lay out there?" Her eyes glanced at the black around them.

She felt his thumb stroke her knuckles. "That life is not without its ups and downs but... The me that lives there... He loves you..." His brows rose. "He loves you in a way I could never truly imagine until I felt it... Until I saw and knew what he did..." He swallowed tightly. "And I'm prepared to be him and to love you... Just as, if not more, passionately."

Hermione Granger, for the first time in all her years, felt as though she could cry and laugh and truly embrace a real matter of the heart. "And I you," she replied.

He grinned, lopsided and crooked and just as warm as ever. And then he tugged her hand, drawing her closer, and as he bent toward her and their lips met, a bright white light surrounded them.

"It's a girl!" the doctor announced.

And a screaming, wailing, Helena Grant entered the Muggle world with no recollection of magic or anything related to it. She would live a regular life, with love and loss, parents who adored her, a sister who admired her, a boy who would become her best friend and most incomparable love. And one day, when death met her once more, she would have yet another choice. But this time, Helena had finally found that true and honest life she'd been looking for.

She had not, like her former self, died young, but instead had lived a long and very fulfilling life. And when the opportunity arose from the darkness, asking her if she'd like to see another lifetime, she declined very simply. Instead, she waited patiently for her husband to appear, having lived out his life the same. And when he too appeared in the strange black abyss, he took one look at her, smiled, and their choice was made. They would not chance to see what another journey might give them, for their lives had been an experience that could not be outdone.

And with that, the many facets of the woman were finally laid to rest. Lives past, her loves and her losses, the many ways she came to die and the uncountable adventures she had part in, were now behind her. Hermione Granger and whoever she might've been before, settled into a calm sense of passing on. Her history had come to its end and she was able to step into the dark surroundings with her husband's hand held tight in her own, to search for what their happily ever afterlife would be like. What awaited them, neither knew, but they would face it together.

Itchy Fingers - M - Dean/Hermione - OneShot

Mon, 12 Jan 2009 02:35:39 GMT

Title: Itchy Fingers
Music: Draw You - Daniel Bedingfield
Genre: Romance
Rating: M
Relationship: Dean/Hermione
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Summary: He loved to draw her.

Beautiful banner made by: hullo of The Dark Arts!

Itchy Fingers
by: atruwriter
1/1

She had the kind of beauty he was sure too many overlooked. He couldn't really complain because when he thought it through, should anybody else see her the way he did, he might just lose the most incredible part of his life. Her beauty came out best in a certain dim lighting, with charcoals and overused paint brushes scattered in front of him. When his muse was at an all time high and he had a canvas before him, waiting to be filled with whatever his mind came up with then.

Sometimes, she didn't even know he was drawing her. She'd lay there, unknowing, showing a side of herself that only he was able to see. It might be early morning when she was just waking up, blinking away sleep and squinting at the overwhelming sun coming through the shades. She might kick off the blanket, letting her long, bare legs tangle in the sheets or lay across the bed in an all too tantalizing sight. Or perhaps it was mid-afternoon and she was sipping a cuppa, the light raining down on her just right as she stared out the window of their flat, eyes taking in the sights as if it were new each day. But his favorite was at night, with the fire warm behind her, a stack of books sitting tall by her favorite thread-bare arm chair. She'd be holding whichever book caught her interest this time against her thighs. It'd be heavy and dusty and when he painted it, it would leave her breathless and speechless as she gazed at just how accurate it would look. And she'd stroke it with her fingers as if she expected the book to jump right out for her to read once more.

And then she'd look across at everything else, at the facial expression he caught of hers. Chewing her lip, nose wrinkled, brow furrowed just slightly, eye lashes brushing her cheeks. Her hair would be the true spotlight stealer though. With its wild curls and thick waves, falling all around her shoulders and nearly shielding her face. There'd be an elastic trying to hold it back and failing and she'd have a curl fall across her eye but she'd ignore it, so used to her hair's ways by now. She'd notice the way he caught her wrinkled night dress, how it slid up her thighs in a way that drew the eye but kept her modesty all the same. And she'd smile at him, that way she always did, and give him the best grade she could offer.

Painting wasn't his favorite, however. Though he did love seeing her come to life in all the colors he had picked up over his lifetime. He was almost certain he had more paints than she had books, though she'd certainly scoff at the fact. But it was drawing that he really loved. In drawing, he could get all the tiny, almost unseen details. He could get the six freckles across the bridge of her nose and he could better shade the quirk of her lips that appeared even when she was angry. And he could draw her hair to perfection when he had a pencil in hand. The way it frizzed and furled and seemed to take on a life of its own, perched atop her beautiful head.

When he drew her, his hands came to life. They seemed to move of their own volition, across the paper or whatever lay in front of him. He'd once tarnished a book of hers, opened the cover and just started drawing until his fingers ached and she'd noticed just what he'd done. But they'd itch -his fingers, of course- and his body would tighten with the need to take what was in his mind or what his eyes had been caught up in and put it on something, whatever was closest. She started putting her books away after that, never left them near him anymore. And she began buying large piles of paper that she'd put in places she knew he frequented. There was a drawing pad in their bedroom, in the top drawer. There was a stack of papers in the bathroom drawer, right next to the face clothes. When she had noticed he'd gotten the inspiration to draw her nude as she bathed behind the shower curtain, he didn't know, but it was a fascinating piece when he'd finished and she obviously wasn't so much annoyed as she was encouraging. He found papers in the kitchen and at her desk, by his favorite chair out on the balcony and next to the couch where he often laid to watch the telly.

And he'd used so much of the paper she offered, he sometimes wondered how she could possibly afford to pay for it. His girlfriend was brilliant, nobody could deny that, but they both had rather modest jobs despite their background. He'd taken to working for the Daily Prophet but his true passion always lay in his art. She always encouraged him to go somewhere with it, but while he enjoyed sharing it with her, he'd rather keep his own personal masterpieces just between them. Not to mention the fact that she was often what his hands itched to trace and to sell anything that showed others what true beauty lie inside her would be encouraging chaos.

She had fallen in love with a nearly out-of-business book store that specialized in both Muggle and Wizarding literature which she then tried to turn around. It was getting plenty of business nowadays but most of the money made went to either fixing up the shop or buying more books. While they weren't rolling in galleons, they were both more than content with the life they lived.

He still remembered the day that he first realized she was more than what she seemed. It was shortly after the war and his stint of being on the run was in the past, along with the safe house that Shell Cottage had become for him before the true battle broke out. He'd just finished celebrating the defeat of Voldemort with Seamus and a few others and was on his way home when he spotted her. She had her coat held tight around her, a hand clasped around the front to keep out the chilly wind. Her hair was being blown all over, looking ready to suffocate her as it continued to keep her blind to where she was going.

Anybody else might've laughed but he... He took one look at her and immediately began drawing her in his head. He caught the way the wind blew her frantic curls all around, he noticed how her knuckles had gone white holding her coat so tight and how she stomped her foot as if to hope it might bring an end to her distress. And then, all of a sudden, the wind died down enough that her hair was let loose from its disarray, letting her see and breathe and walk with as much dignity as she could muster. And without a pause in step, he walked right over to her and blurted out something he was almost certain any other witch would've slapped him for. "Can I draw you at your most vulnerable?"

Any other bloke might've immediately taken back what he'd just said, especially staring this very well-known witch in the eye, but his artist's heart wouldn't let him. Not when a true masterpiece was right before him.

Quirking a brow, she replied, "Does that ever work?"

Letting out a chuckle, he shook his head. "It wasn't a line. I... I draw, I... I just saw you and- and it was magnificent and..." He laughed, feeling foolish. "You probably think I'm mental but... It was beautiful just then... Your hair it was... The most incredible sight I think I've ever seen."

Pursing her lips, she rolled her eyes. "You know, if I hadn't known you in school, I would've thought you were just feeding me nonsense. But, the real way to a woman's beauty, be it for artistic means or otherwise, is probably to start out small." She let out a small smile before stepping past him.

Unable to let the moment pass, he turned around and called out, "Dinner then? Or lunch? Is that smaller?"

Chuckling, she looked back at him. "I'll meet you for tea and then we can discuss this fetish you have for my hair..."

Grinning, he nodded. "Tea it is!"

She simply turned back around and apparated away.

With a happy sigh and a new muse in mind, he left for home, unknowing of just what lay in the future.

And what a future it was. Four years later and that tea had turned into a few dinners and a couple lunches and what had begun as a portrait that would capture her true essence became a relationship that he never wanted to end. It became long nights spent in his flat with her wearing very little and sprawled atop whatever caught his eye so he could get every angle and every curve with his dexterous fingers. And those nights turned into mornings where her hair was even more of a mess after she'd spent it rolling across the bed and throwing her head back as he pleasured her in every way he knew possible. With his fingers and his mouth and languid kisses across her entire form that left her shaking and pleading for more. And he loved her mouth, the words that came out of those sweet, pink lips. He wished he could draw her moans or the way she cried out his name; he wished he could capture that ecstasy on paper and admire it day in and day out.

He had tried to draw it a million times before. Of the way her brow crinkled and her nostrils flared; how her fingers dug into his shoulders or her hips rose in succession with his; how her breasts lifted as if filled with her cries and her desire and the need that drew him deeper. He drew fluidly and caught shadows and indents, but never could he truly capture the glint in her eye when she looked up at him in the throes, when she stared desperately inside of him. He could never quite get down the way he felt her heart hammering out of her chest and into his. He tried and drew and painted but every time, though better than the last, it never quite caught what was there, between them.

So visceral and carnal and deep and all encompassing that it only lasted during those moments. When her nails bit into his skin and her body arched into air beneath him, when her damp hair stuck to her face and her swollen lower lip broke away from her clenched teeth. When she sobbed his name and tightened all around him, falling apart and taking him with her into the farthest reaches of perfection. Where they were boundless; flying across skies of such color not even his limitless amounts of paint could match them. And then they'd fall, back to the ground, to the comfort of their bed or the hard top of the kitchen table or the cold, wet shower wall and sometimes even that favorite chair of his out on the balcony. And they'd lay together, boneless, clutching one another, their thick breaths the only thing to fill the room now. He'd kiss her shoulder or her neck or the breast his teeth marked, just coming down from the high.

And now he sat, like so many nights before, with his pad in his hand and his fingers covered in charcoal. His head was tipped to one side, his leg flung over the arm of his chair, and his eyes set solely on her, sitting across from him with that all-knowing curve to her lips. She lifted a brow at him, as if urging him to do something. And he waited, watched to see what she might do next.

She was perched on the front of her desk; a stack of worn books on one side of her and a mess of financial papers on her left. She wore only one of his dress shirts, the arms rolled up to her elbows and the tail ends brushing the top of her knees. Her legs were swinging front and back as she leaned forward just slightly, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. His eyes narrowed; what was she doing?

She lifted one leg and then the other, placing her feet where her hands were, spread far apart, thighs taut, and giving him quite the view from where he sat. He shifted in his seat, his long body suddenly feeling entirely too stifled. She slid her hands from the tops of her knees down her thighs, dragging the shirt up with her. She wasn't wearing any knickers and he couldn't complain in the least. He was given a beautiful view of every fold she possessed and he couldn't help but be reminded of the time he told her how much he loved drawing that particular part of her anatomy.

He'd been shagging her up against one of the bookcases in the store, hands wrapped around her thighs, holding her up as he pinned her harder against the shelves with each thrust. His panting blew her hair out of his face and away from her ear and he'd taken the chance to whisper just how much he loved her sweet slit; how beautifully perfect it was to shag and draw and just simply look at. Had she not been so involved in what they were doing, she might've blushed; instead she only squeezed him as he slid deep inside her.

And now, here she was, displaying all that he so loved; in every way, shape and form. He loved sinking inside of it, drawing it, licking and kissing every sweet, delicious inch of it. He loved her scent and her soft, warmth; he loved how she felt around his tongue, his length and his fingers as they pumped inside her quivering tightness. In fact, he was quite sure no other woman on the earth was made quite as incredibly as her. And he knew she'd disagree; she'd tell him he was being ridiculous and that it was only because it was them that he said it, but he refused to bow down to that idea. She may not know it, but she was in possession of the most beautiful object there ever was.

One of her hands rose away from her heat, fingers just barely skimming her upturned breast before her fingers took the top button of the shirt between them and undid it. One by one, she let the shirt fall apart until it just barely hid her breasts from his eyes and left her flat stomach open to him. She was beautiful; probably no more than usual, but whenever he found himself so engrossed with her, it was hard to believe he'd ever laid eyes on her and managed to take them off.

There was beauty in the chaos; of her hair, mostly. But there was also a grand elegance to the wrinkle of her nose when she disagreed or the twist of her lips when she was angry. There was something attractive about the way her hand found her hip just before she tore someone's head off or how her foot tapped when she was just waiting for the right moment to strike. So she wasn't as soft as he might feel her features made her; she didn't come off as sweet and gentle or calm in nature. But he loved that about her; the wildness of her hair only agreed with her strong personality. Of her will to be more and see more and create a whole new brilliance for the world to understand.

Her eyes darkened as she stared at him though deep brown eyes surrounded by long black lashes. She wet her lips with her tongue, teeth biting down on her lip for only a split second before releasing it. She showed no signs of insecurity, how could she when she knew how much he loved her; when she'd been there when he thoroughly explored every inch of her. The beauty mark on her bottom, the scar behind her knee, her so-called misshapen feet, the flair of her hips, the rise of her breasts, the delicate ball of her shoulders and the long line of her back. He'd touched and kissed and seen every single part of her and he loved it all.

So she wasn't shy when she slid a hand beneath the cover of the shirt to cup one of her breasts or when she trailed her finger along the open display of her heat. She didn't hide her hiss of pleasure or the way her thighs tightened in response to her touch. She fully embraced it and showed it to him, entirely open to the idea that this might be his new favorite; this might be the piece of art that he spent hours on, mulling over every detail until it was just right, until he had captured every contour and pleasure-filled expression.

But tonight, he wouldn't. His fingers itched, yes, but he put his paper aside and rose from his chair. His jeans hung low on his waist and the end of them dragged along the hardwood beneath his feet. Reaching one arm over his shoulder he gripped the back of his shirt and yanked it up and over his head, shedding it entirely. As he reached her, she looked up at him with a smile; as if she was satisfied she'd outdone his need to draw.

She spread her legs further, inviting him in close. Her hand fell from her breast and her heat, reaching for him, curling around his biceps. He could fell her wet fingers against his arm and leaned in closer until his jean-covered hips were pressed against her intimately. Her eyes fluttered before she lifted them back up to stare intensely into him. Sliding her fingers away from his arms, she trailed them down his chest. He loved this part, seeing her milky white hands against his dark brown torso. Such a drastic difference and yet they fit there; those small hands with delicate wrists and long fingers. She traced the definition of his chest and down across his stomach, her thumbs sliding beneath each indent admiringly before she hooked her fingers around the waist of his jeans.

"What happened to what the artist's heart wants, it gets?" she chastised, teasingly.

She'd done this before; more times than he could count; tried to lure him from his painting or his drawing to come to her. And more than once he'd told her that the itch of his fingers had to be answered before the twitch in his pants. She always laughed, pecked his cheek and let it go. But there were a few times that he hadn't let the moment slip away. Where the yearning for that look on her face, the one he could never quite capture on paper, was too strong to ignore. And this was one of those moments.

Hands gripping her thighs, he drew her legs around his waist. "This artist's heart only wants you..." he murmured.

There was a softness in her eyes then; one that she rarely let show. She told him time and time again that she wasn't a romantic; that much as she loved him, she didn't need the frilly words or declarations or anything of the sort. But there were times when he could see she appreciated them more than she let on and this was one of them.

"And what does this heart want to do with me?" she asked, that mischievous brow of her raised once more.

He twisted his hips just enough to brush against her and she let out a whimper of approval.

"Dean..." she breathed, looking up at him with the same need and desire and want he felt coursing all through him.

His hand rose to cup her cheek, fingers brushing the thick hair he'd come to love so long ago. "Tell me what you want, my muse, and I'll give it to you..."

She tugged on his jeans before sliding her hands around his back and spreading her fingers out as she drew him in close. "Just you."

The magic words.

His lips sought hers with a passion equaled only by her own. And everything else in that moment was lost to them; books and paints and pencils and charcoal were no longer important. There was just him and her, his muse for all eternity. The brilliant, fiery witch that he planned to one day make his wife. And if no one else saw the reason why, he knew it each time he set eyes on her. It was in the frenzy of her hair and the gold flecks in her eyes; it was in that raised brow and those pursed lips; it was the tone of her voice and the touch of her skin. It was everything about her that sparked his fingers into action.

As he yanked the shirt from her, his charcoal tainted fingers left the coloring along her arms and her neck and the white of the crisp fabric. Her pale skin was touched by his art in the same way his itch was renewed with every move she made. Some might call it insanity, this possession she had over his artistry, but he called it love; in its most pure form. She was a field of wild flowers caught in early morning's sun; she was a night sky twinkling high above a dark, sleeping city, unawares; she was a babbling creek that's beauty was only felt by the bed of rocks it rushed across. And he was the man who caught this unseen masterpiece; he was the man who never let it pass him by but instead took it all in for what it was. And she let him; she showed that same appreciation back with each stilling movement she made, letting him capture it as it was, never interrupting the process but instead embracing it.

As her head fell back and her body lifted toward him, his lips caught a taut rosy nipple and suckled it deep inside, tongue twirling and teeth holding it tight. Her blunt nails dug into his back and she made a noise of enjoyment from the back of her throat. One of her hands fell, pushed his pants lower, begging for more of him. And he'd give it to her in time, but first he had to explore and enjoy and capture every one of these angles for future reference. Because it was never truly over; he had to try again and again. He had to capture all the pleasure in every tightening of muscles and gripping of fingers. So when they were done, adorned with perspiration and peppered with kisses and still experiencing the aftershocks of a mind-blowing orgasm, he'd have the look on her face stuck in his mind, and his fingers would itch to try once more, to get it down on that paper in just the right way. But it wouldn't come out right and he knew it. Because those moments were only to be savored when they were happening and so it was with little regret that he knew he must continue to do so, to enjoy and love and take it all in over and over and over again; today and tomorrow and all the days of the future.

He sunk into her with that thought in mind. His eyes fell closed and he dragged in a deep breath that he swore felt like freedom. Her nails scored down his back and legs tightened around his waist as the tilt of her hips asked for more. She always felt so small compared to him; with his long body pressed against her own, much shorter, petite form. Her personality said more than that, made her feel much larger. But in these moments, when it was skin to skin and panting breaths colliding between meeting lips, it was just Dean and Hermione; the artist and the know-it-all; the brilliant mind and the itchy fingers; two lovers and two fighters that found their balance with each other. He had it all, as far as he was concerned. And when the moment came, caught in time, unable to be experienced any other way, he could see in her eyes that she felt the exact same way. He couldn't ask for anything more.

A Passion for Portraits - T - OneShot - Hermione/Sirius

Sun, 11 Jan 2009 23:17:50 GMT

Title: A Passion for Portraits
Music: Flying Without Wings by Westlife feat. Christian Castro
Genre: Romance/Angst/Humor/Drama
Relationship: Sirius/Hermione
Summary: It was ridiculous, of course. But... She couldn't seem to make her heart believe the same as her head.

Fantastic banner made by: obviously 394 of The Dark Arts!

A Passion for Portraits
by: atruwriter

"What do you know about portraits, Hermione?"

It was more the use of her first name that drew her attention back to him. It wasn't so uncharacteristic of him to get in the way of her work; in fact, it appeared to be his favorite pastime. He was always calling out for her attention with a loud, "Granger? Did I ever tell you about...?" Why he had his portrait permanently stuck to the wall of this particular office, she would never know. She refused to admit, to herself more than anyone, that there were other rooms she could do her work in but avoided.

Looking up from her papers, she tucked a loose tendril of brown hair behind her ear and raised a brow at him questioningly. "In what way does my knowledge of portraits relate to women or alcohol?" she wondered.

He smirked, letting out a small chuckle. "In no way..."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then why are you asking?" She shook her head, leaning back in her seat. "For nearly a year now the only time you interrupt me is to either regale me with another poor attempt at humor involving your many female companions or a bottle of firewhiskey and the rest of your chaotic friends."

He grinned reminiscently. "Thought it was time to change the pace a little. Now... will you answer the question or must I believe you have absolutely no knowledge whatsoever?"

She huffed at the very implication. "I know quite a lot, thank you. In order for the person inside the portrait to take on the many characteristics and mannerisms as those whom they're made after, some part of the photographed must be ingrained inside. Hair is the usual but back in the early 1400's they were quite interested in the powder of ground teeth that they would then place inside the paint to be used." Her eyes flashed with vast knowledge. "Most wizards and witches nowadays cut a lock of their children's hair and put it off to the side for a later date, like when its time for their portrait to be made. And then those hairs are sewn right into the very canvas used." She scrunched her nose then. "Rather morbid if you ask me."

He simply stared at her from his easy slump in the chair that accompanied him inside his portrait. The black dress shirt he wore was unbuttoned to his navel, leaving the tails of his shirt to hang over his sides as he lounged. The top few buttons too had been undone and if she paid it any mind, she'd notice the tattoos he bore from prison and beforehand. But, of course, she was far too busy to be gawking at the man in front of her, no matter how attractive he might be...

"Right... The very essence of a person, trapped inside a portrait..." He stared at her searchingly, something strange in those eyes of his. "Quite a bit of magic that..."

"Mmm," she agreed absently, her eyes falling back to her work. "Is that all then?"

He grinned at her. "Well... Actually, I just thought of something else."

Lifting her eyes back to him, she waited.

With a slow smirk, he leaned forward as if to share a secret. "It was 1987 and there was a redhead on my arm with a body you wouldn't..."

She sighed, shaking her head.

...

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" his voice whispered across the room to her, as if he didn't want to wake the other portraits.

Looking up from her book, she peered through the darkness to search for him.

There was some shuffling and shushing coming from the pictures that seemed to be closer and closer and then, suddenly, he was above the fireplace, looking down at her.

"Shouldn't you?" she asked, lifting a brow.

"Seems more like habit than something I really need to do." He shrugged carelessly. "What're you reading?"

Looking down, she furrowed her brow at her book and then raised her eyes back to his. "Er, nothing important."

He grinned. "Ah... one of those books, eh? Didn't see you as one of those types."

"Those types?" She pursed her lips.

He simply laughed at her annoyance. "It's a romance. Probably some strikingly handsome man sweeps a damsel in distress off her feet... A little jealousy, some fiery denials and then mind-blowing shagging..." He shrugged, smirking to himself.

Snapping her book shut, she shook her head. "Of course not. Why would I muddle my brain with that rot?"

He perched his head on his hand and stared at her. "You tell me..."

Sighing, she shook her head. "It's a romance but she's no damsel in distress..."

"No?"

"Of course not." She lifted her chin defiantly. "She's cunning and smart and very innovative given what's going on. And Roland is-"

"Roland?" he interrupted, his tone obviously amused.

"Yes..." she said snappishly. "You know, it means royalty-"

"Go on," he said, waving his hand so she wouldn't begin ranting.

"Anyways... Roland and Joanna are entrenched in this awful war where..."

He listened patiently, not something she usually connected with him. And even more astonishing, he somehow convinced her to read the book to him. So, with a warm quilt wrapped around her legs and the fire crackling before her, she leaned against the couch and read the book aloud to him. He didn't fall asleep, didn't make fun of her and only interrupted to put in his personal thoughts on the happenings or the characters, which she didn't really mind because it led to a debate over certain people's actions or reactions or the plot itself. By the end, the sun was rising, painting the floor with its light and she was yawning after every few words.

"Time to sleep, love..." he told her gently.

Rubbing her eyes, she sighed. "I have work in..." She glared at the clock as if hoping somehow that might turn it back a few hours.

Chuckling, Sirius shook his head. "Unless you plan on napping on those papers, I think you're fit for a day off."

"Oh but... I can't just..." Sliding onto her side and drawing the blanket around her a little more, Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'll just rest until Harry gets up and then... Then some tea will wake me up... Yes, and then... Then off to work I... I go..." Yawning, she drifted away, falling deep into her dreams where her own personal Roland whisked her away, looking much like a dapper Sirius in her mind's-eye.

...

There was something in what he said that wouldn't stop bothering her. Pacing back and forth across the Black library, she tried to figure out just what was meant behind those vague words of his. He wasn't one for tossing unusual thoughts around unless he had a much deeper process going on. So why then did he want to know the inner-workings of portraits? What purpose did it hold?

Sirius Black's portrait had been delivered to Grimmauld place about a year earlier and had immediately been placed where he asked; stuck to the wall across from her desk, where she did all of her work and brainstorming. Harry hadn't argued over the placement, saying only that it was where Sirius wanted to be and so it was where he would be. Why he'd ever want to return to Grimmauld place and not somewhere better, she had no idea. But then perhaps it had more to do with the people inside the home that housed so many retched memories for the man. She never asked, though it did constantly come up in her mind. He was a man who took his secrets deeply and only shared them when he felt the need. If he didn't want to tell her then she would have to accept that. Grudgingly.

The first day she laid eyes on the portrait, she'd nearly spilled her tea all over herself. This wasn't the Sirius Black she remembered. Gone were the rotted teeth and scraggly hair. Even the beard had been shaven and replaced with a much younger and charming face that much resembled the stories of the young Black that had stolen so many a witch's heart. But that smirk of his was the same and the way he leaned back in his seat on only two legs and sprawled so regal without even meaning to; it was all the older man she'd known. And his usual manner had returned full-force despite the lack of a corporeal body to back him up. He was quick to tell her she spent too much time in her office, working and thinking. And he was always encouraging her to live a little and let her hair down. But she simply wrinkled her nose at the thought. She had her way and he had his and she was certain neither of them should do the opposite. Although, he could do with a little more common sense, in her opinion. Though seeing as he was a portrait, it was a little later for that now.

The boys had their lives; Harry with Ginny and Ron with Luna. They had their friends and their young adult lives to live, but Hermione didn't feel as though she fit in with the twosomes. She was almost always single when she arrived for their usual Friday night bash at the pub and it only made her feel awkward when they thought to get her a nice gentlemen to play the blind-date part. Too often however, he was either far too boring or entirely too touchy. And so Hermione did what she did best; learned and worked. Or at least, if it wasn't what she did best it was what she knew.

But in the past year or so, she had spent more time in the company of Sirius Black's portrait than she had any of her friends and she wasn't quite sure what to make of that. It was probably ridiculous that she had grown an odd sense of friendship with him. That when she had a bad day, her first place to go to was the office, if only because she knew he'd listen. Or that when she had a good day, he was the first face to come to mind, wondering how he might react to her news. Yes, unusual that... How she confided in him so trustingly.

"What's wrong, pet?" he'd ask her, in a tone that was entirely too warm.

And she'd forget that he was merely a copy of the man she once knew and let it all out in one long breath that left her feeling empty and alone. And then he'd puff up her spirits with some ridiculous story that either had her ranting about rules or clutching her aching sides from laughter and whatever plagued her mind would be long forgotten. However, that proved to be a large problem. It simply wasn't right. She should not be relying on the company of an inanimate object to occupy her time and friendship. She knew plenty of alive and real people that she was sure she could go to if she really needed to and really, it wasn't as if Sirius would be lonely without her. Bored, perhaps, but it was a manufactured boredom if she really thought about it.

The problem was though, she couldn't seem to talk herself into leaving him alone for much longer than a few hours or so. She'd go out, eat, see her friends, maybe get in some grocery shopping, but by the end of the night... She missed him. Missed that smirk or his barking laughter or even just the way he leeringly winked at her to get her attention off her work.

Ridiculous, of course. But... She couldn't seem to make her heart believe the same as her head.

...

"What are you doing?"

"I'm writing. What does it look like I'm doing?" She sighed, shaking her head as she pressed the quill harder against the parchment, not even bothering to care that any more pressure and she was bound to tear it.

"I'm not sure that constitutes as writing, love," he mused. "Looks more like purposeless torture against a defenseless roll of parchment."

With a heavy exhalation, she threw her head back and leaned against her chair, lifting her hands up and covering her face with them. "What is wrong with me?" she mumbled, far too incoherent for him to understand.

"Of all the languages I can speak, I'm fairly certain that isn't one..."

She rolled her eyes behind her fingers and let them fall. "Can I have a moment, please?"

"To do what with? Wallow in self pity?" He pursed his lips rather mockingly. "No, I'd rather we skip that part."

Shaking her head, she learned forward. "Am I not allowed to feel sorry for myself every once in awhile?" she wondered, annoyed.

"Sure, if you have good reason." He shrugged, flicking black hair out of his eyes lazily. "But you don't."

Her eyes widened, offended. "Excuse me?"

He smiled slowly, knowingly. "You have a whole world to explore and do with what you want and instead you spend it all in here... My company is consuming, I know, but... You can't use it as your excuse."

Chewing her lip, she turned her eyes away. "I've done plenty of exploring, thank you."

"Running for your life and chasing after Horcruxes' to save the bloody world does not count as exploring... It's just trying to get by." He waved his hands around. "Which is what you're doing here, just sitting around with your books and your stacks of paperwork that don't need to be written in such elaborate detail." He snorted. "You think anybody reads those?"

Stiffening her shoulders, she glared at him. "Of course they do. Not everybody is as immature as some people..."

Rolling his eyes, he sighed. "Right, here we go again... I'm immature and have no direction in life."

Clenching her jaw, she stood up from her desk, hauling her many books and parchment into her arms. "Well that's just it, isn't it? You're not alive at all, meaning you can't waste away your life like I'm sure you would've liked to."

Glaring, he sat up a little. "Well if I were alive, I can guarantee you that I wouldn't be wasting it anymore than you are!"

She huffed. "Right, of course, because doing the world a service must have absolutely no good bearing at all! It must be boring and pointless and a complete waste of time!"

"I never said that! Obviously you've done good for the world." He clapped rather mockingly. "So what good have you done yourself?"

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean by that?"

He tipped his head, looking at her as though she was a complete dunderhead. "I mean how much of your life has to be spent on others? When do you get some time for yourself?"

Her eyes fell a fraction. "I... I have plenty of time I just..."

"You just spend it on others, again, always..." He shook his head, his hair falling elegantly across his face once more. "A waste."

Feeling the build-up of tears behind her eyes and unwilling to let him see them, she bit her lip and fled the room, leaving her inkwell and a trail of parchment behind her. However, it hadn't escaped her attention that like all other portraits, he could leap from one to another. And with a sigh, he began calling after her and chasing her through the house, hopping over other portraits and whatever they might be doing. She heard him step in Lady Demurtia's Christmas pudding as he hopped across a table and he managed to kick Sir Westmore Black's terrier as he went by, nearly tripping over the leash in the process. And finally, he came to a stop at the last portrait before the door.

"I'm only looking out for you, pet," he told her, his voice much more concerned now.

"Well you needn't have, I'm doing quite fine on my own, Mr. Black and I don't need your assistance," she spat angrily, hurrying out the door and slamming it behind her.

Tears falling, she hurried down the sidewalk with no idea where she was going.

...

It was nearly a week later before she decided to show her face inside Grimmauld, finally convincing herself that it was utter rot that she was worried over seeinga portrait of someone. She stepped inside with her shoulders stiff and her chin lifted, taking the stairs with a purpose before she stepped inside her office, refusing to glance at the portrait as if she hadn't even remembered it was there. She stopped at her desk, searched around for her inkwell and then began looking for the papers she'd left behind when she was last there.

There was a clearing of a throat that she ignored and immediately she got back down to work, further ignoring the attention-seeking noise he was making.

"Oh come on... You can't ignore me forever."

"I can try," she replied primly.

He sighed. "I'll warn you now I can be a right annoying git when I need to be..."

"I already knew that."

Without looking, she knew he was rolling his eyes.

"So I said a few things and you said a few things... Doesn't mean we can get past it."

Her quill stilled and with a small sigh, she finally lifted her head. "What is there to get past, Sirius?" She shook her head. "You're a portrait and I've been silly to have taken what you've said to heart. You... I..." She bit her lip, turning her eyes away. "This is my life; it's the one I've chosen and I've been quite content. And... You'll just have to accept that."

He stared back at her; his expression clouded and finally turned his head away, a brooding expression crossing his handsome face.

Softly, she told him, "If you're really unhappy with that... I can always see if Harry might unstick you and place you elsewhere."

He turned back toward her rapidly. "You'd... You'd get rid of me? Just like that?"

Blinking hastily, knowing that she'd dearly miss his intrusive behavior whenever she needed peace and quiet, she simply nodded. "If it's for the best, then we'll just have to cope, won't we?"

"Right... For the best..."

He didn't speak to her for the rest of the day and while work was more than finished, she couldn't help but want to stay in hopes of hearing just one more of his silly stories.

...

When he finally did begin speaking to her again, she almost sighed with relief just from hearing that warm voice again.

"Have you ever talked to a medi-witch about this lack of sleeping? It could be a serious condition, you know."

Whirling her head around she found Sirius inside a portrait of Lady Cromwill; an old witch that often ran off to Mr. Wendall's portrait to flirt. He looked out of place amongst the flowery tea set and pristine white furniture he lounged in.

Crawling out from beneath her covers, she turned to sit in the center of her bed, facing him. "I don't have a sleeping disorder," she replied, primly. "I just have a lot on my mind."

He lifted a brow. "Does it ever stop? The thinking, I mean..." His eyes narrowed. "Have you ever been so passionate about something that thought evades you...? That you're just caught up in that one moment and nothing else can taint it or draw you away?"

She swallowed tightly. His voice evoked feelings inside her, of want and desire; for him or the things he spoke of, she dare not wonder. "I... I've been passionate about many things." Her eyes fell away.

He smiled. "Not for others... I don't mean Elfish welfare or the war or making sure everything is in alphabetical and chronological order..." He winked when her cheeks burned with a blush. "There has to besomething or... or someone that's made your true passion come out..." He leaned forward and she told herself that it was silly to hope he could come right out of his frame and sit next to her or in front of her.

She shook her head. "Life is not made of fantasy and passion, it's... It's made of order and living a proper life means you must... sacrifice certain desires..."

He cocked a brow, unconvinced. "Truly living life means you shouldn't have to sacrifice anything you deserve... Desire and passion are what drive us... And you may have passion for some things, but what you really need is to find that inner fire of yours and just... Let it loose!"

With a sigh, she frowned. "And just whom should I let it loose on?"

He laughed lightly. "Well who gets your knickers twisted up? Who drives you up the wall so much that you just want to knock them to the ground and ravish them entirely?" His eyes flashed. "Who would you willingly toss your books and papers aside for just for a moment, a glimpse, of what they might be able to give you and show you and bring to life inside of you?" He smiled genuinely, staring searchingly into her eyes. "Is there anybody you'd throw order away for?"

She wished she could tell him, even just to whisper her answer, but... She couldn't. And so, she simply tugged at her nightdress and looked up at him with a vague smile. "Some of us just weren't meant for passion, Sirius. And if I've grown to accept that, maybe you should too." Crawling away from the center of her bed, she drew up her blankets and crawled beneath.

She dimmed the lights with a little wandless magic and closed her eyes, hoping it might stop the sting of tears that begged escape. Biting hard on her lip, she wished sleep would come soon and she could forget all about the silly fantasies he'd just renewed her heart with.

Not to be so easily dismissed, he whispered, "I won't give up on you just yet, pet."

She couldn't help the tiny smile that broke through.

...

"Sirius has been asking about you," Harry said, appearing rather suddenly in her work office.

Lifting her head, she squinted at him. "Has he?" Shifting in her seat, she turned her gaze back down to her papers. "I've been busy."

"So busy that you never return home to do all these stacks of paper?" he wondered, lifting a concerned brow.

"Somebody needs to fill out the right papers, Harry," she defended, huffing to herself.

He crossed his arms, peering at her rather wonderingly. "Isn't home at least a little more comfortable than here though? Ron says he hasn't seen you for days..."

"Posh, I just saw him the other..." Her brow furrowed. "Well it couldn't have been that long..."

Pulling up a chair, Harry sat down in front of her desk. "Look, I know you and Sirius are having some issues..."

"Issues?" she exclaimed. "What issues could I have with a portrait?"

He stared at her, unconvinced. "Hermione... I spend lots of time at Hogwarts, just chatting with Dumbledore..."

She blew out a breath of irritation and returned her eyes to her work. "It's not the same, Harry..."

"Why? Give me one good reason why running away to work and sleeping at your desk here could be any more comfortable than being at home in your cozy office with a friend overlooking your shoulder." He sounded so insistent and some part of her really did want to tell him, to explain it, but she had a feeling he really wouldn't get it.

"Never mind, all right? I'll be home tomorrow. I just... I just needed some quiet, okay?" She smiled lightly. "And you must admit, if Sirius had it his way, there'd be no such thing as silence."

Harry offered a half-grin, nodding agreeably. "All right... But if I don't see you by tomorrow, I'll haul you back myself." Standing up, he winked at her playfully before apparating home.

Sighing, Hermione sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, wondering over her bad luck with men.

...

It struck her late at night; she'd been nearly asleep and her eyes were clouded when they suddenly shot open and it all fell together in a sleepy haze of brilliance. Tossing away her blanket, she leapt from her bed and barely noticed the chill of the hardwood beneath her bare feet before she was rushing toward her bookshelf and drawing down book after book, throwing them to her bed. She muttered a hasty Lumos and the room lit up for her to peruse for what she needed. She spent hours on end, reading and searching and finding what she desperately needed. It was with hesitant hope that she threw all of herself into this new possibility before her.

By four in the morning, she had it; the answer to all of her agonized worries.

...

Harry's engagement party was in less than an hour and Hermione had already gone through three different outfits, certain they were all hideous. Her hair was thrown up and off her face but she was still sure that the second she let it loose, the brown bush would suffocate her without pause.

Finally, she drew on a simple black dress, left her face free of make-up and untied her hair, letting it fall down her back and hoping that for once, it might actually stay in place. She dragged a brush through it and let out a prayer for the best before turning to see herself in the mirror.

"Smashing," she heard from behind her and she didn't have to turn to know who it was. It wasn't rare for him to hop portrait to portrait, following her around the house. And more than once she'd found him front and center in her bedroom as she dressed. But any scathing chastisement she gave was only met with, "I'm only a portrait, right? So what's it matter?" And she couldn't really fight him on that.

With a quirk of her lips, she replied, "You lie but I appreciate it nonetheless."

With a grin, he shook his head. "Learn to take a compliment, love."

"I take them quite well, thank you. When you're honest."

He cocked a brow. "What makes you so sure I don't think you're absolutely entrancing?"

Turning, she looked up at the portrait before her where a far too charming and good-looking Sirius Black stared back at her. His eyes were the grey she remembered, but not nearly as jaded or dark. His skin was tanned a warm brown and his smile was as crooked and heart-melting as ever. He looked younger in his portrait than she'd ever known him to be and she wondered if when this was all over, he would look the same or perhaps as she had once remembered. It should've worried her that no matter what he looked like, her feelings wouldn't change, but she couldn't muster the thought.

"You're doing it again," he murmured, lifting a black brow.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking too much." He grinned. "One of these days... I'm going to find a way to preoccupy that incredible mind of yours until you're immersed in nothing but bliss." His voice was husky as he whispered his vow, his eyes darkening as they stared into her with the same intense stare a real set of eyes might.

"Good luck," she told him.

He smirked, something in the subtle twist of his lips made her body quiver on the inside, showing only a slight shiver outwardly.

"Is my date ready then?"

With a quirk of her brow, she replied, "Is my engagement present?"

He bowed his head and with one last prayer to Merlin, Hermione Granger tossed her salvation at the portrait before her. A pink liquid coated the entire portrait and let out a brilliant glow of yellow that she had to shield her eyes from. There was a tearing sound and then the thud of the frame falling from the wall and hitting the floor. Her heart beat quick and loud in her ears and all she could do was hope that she hadn't just completely ruined the one piece of Sirius they all had left.

She could see through her closed lids that the light had dimmed and no longer were there any sounds to be heard. She refused to open her eyes, however, worried about what she might see. But then... a finger, touching her cheek and she let out a heavy breath of relief, opening her eyes to see none other than a corporeal Sirius Black before her, just as dashing as he'd been in the portrait. Only this time... she could touch him.

He grinned at her, proud and excited and let out a loud bark of happy laughter before gathering her up in his arms. "You did it, pet! You really did it!"

She nearly cried, wrapping her arms tight around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder. He even smelled delicious.

"I knew it." He sighed thankfully. "I knew you could..."

"It should be impossible," she muttered, shaking her head. "I was sure that it wouldn't work! I... History, books, the past, everything says it shouldn't, but..."

She could feel him grinning against her hair. "The elixir of life..." he murmured, lips brushing her ear. "So easy, my dear. And so brilliantly complicated all the same. Only you could've succeeded."

"Do you know what this means?" she asked, leaning away from him to look directly into his eyes. "Do you know what could happen from all this? If there's a portrait out there of Voldemort or-"

He cut her off with the warm consuming embrace of his lips, his tongue delving forth to tangle with hers. And really, she could do nothing to stop him. His long fingers buried in her hair, gripping so tight she could barely move her head. Not that she could even fathom breaking away from him then. His nose bumped hers and stole the exhalation escaping her nostrils as he inhaled deeply and took the very thoughts from her mind. His lips, so smooth and warm against her own; they slanted and cradled and met hers with such vigor and passion that she felt her knees weaken. But his arm around her waist, tight, strong, consuming, held her in the air. She was plastered to him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her hips tight against his own. And when he finally pulled apart, the both of them panting, she was almost certain that it was too much like a heavenly dream to be real. She almost didn't open her eyes, afraid she might wake in her bed.

But his voice, deep and familiar and a passionate growl that had his breath skittering over her lips, met her ears, and she knew it was real. "I don't care. I... If nobody has to know, we won't tell them. I don't have to be Sirius. I don't look like the man they remember. We'll only tell a few, yeah? We'll... We'll keep it all to ourselves after that... It'll be our little secret." He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking back and forth as he gazed into her eyes. "I can be anybody you want me to be."

Sniffling, she stared up at him with a wavering smile. "I can't imagine wanting anyone else but you... Sirius."

With an arrogant grin, he winked at her. "Well you have me now, Granger... Whatever will you do with me?"

Raising a brow, she replied in a husky tone, "After introductions are made..." She leaned up, lips brushing his earlobe as she whispered, "I'll explain in great detail every last thing I'd like to do to you... It's not nice seducing a woman when she has no way of reciprocating."

His hand slid up her spine, fingers splayed out against her back, drawing her in tight. "Going to teach me a lesson then, love?"

Nibbling his earlobe, she drew back and grinned. "Mm... One you'll never forget."

The doorbell suddenly rang and Hermione was brought back to her senses then. "Seems the party's about to start then..."

Sirius nodded, still gazing at her. "You should get Harry so he's not too surprised and then we'll shock the crowd with your astonishingly handsome boyfriend..."

With an indelicate snort, Hermione broke away. "I see bringing you back to life did nothing to ease your arrogance."

Smirking, he shook his head. "If anything, I think my head's actually ballooned a little."

She nodded; a teasing smile, tugging at her lips. "Yes, from this angle, I believe I can see what you're talking about."

Laughing, he waved her away. "Go, wench, get my godson..."

"Wench?" She lifted her brows. "You'll pay for that later."

"Lucky me."

Rolling her eyes, she left toward the door before coming to a sudden stop and turning toward him. "Is this why you were put in my office? Because you'd hoped I'd figure it out?"

Fixing his tie, Sirius looked over at her. "I was put in that office because when I was first asked where I'd like my portrait, it had to be in my family home... And the only place I felt safe was there... When you look out the window, you can see the Muggle village much better and as a child I used to imagine I lived there... That I'd never been born a Black at all..." He smiled. "Finding you in there was simply a bonus... And falling for you... Well that's just good luck on both our parts I think."

Hands on her hips, she replied, "And just what makes you think I love you, Sirius Black?"

He grinned. "Deny it if you must... But I'll get a confession out of you tonight, I can promise you that." He stared at her with dark, seductive eyes. "I always knew there was a fiery passion inside you... You needed just the right man to bring it out."

With a slight shiver, she lifted her nose as if to deny him and left the room, letting her grin show as she heard his laughter fill the room behind her.

They had a rocky road ahead of them. There would be suspicion and questions and people would wonder. And perhaps one day, fooling with just such a powerful magic might come back to haunt them. But for now, she had the man and not the memory and she would leave worrying for later. Because, truly, she was in love with him and he her. So whatever came of it, good or bad, she would just have to face. Sirius was right. It was time for Hermione to live life and now she had just the right person to do so with.

I Loved Her Then, I Love You Now - M - OneShot

Sun, 11 Jan 2009 23:07:39 GMT

Title: I Loved Her Then, I Love You Now
Genre: Angst/Romance
Relationship: Remus/Hermione
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!
Summary: Doubting just what's between them, space seems like a good idea to her. Remus doesn't agree.

Gorgeous banner made by: obviously394 of The Dark Arts!

I Loved Her Then, I Love You Now
by: atruwriter

"Remus?"

"Hm?" He played with the necklace that fell between her breasts, his fingers tracing the intricate design as his cheek lay on her shoulder, the bristles of his day's growth of beard lightly scraping her delicate skin.

She wanted to say the words. They were right there, at the very end of her tongue. But her eyes fell closed, tightened, and her lips followed suit. "Nothing... Never mind."

She could feel his head raise, whiskers burning against her shoulder enough to make a lusty shudder slide down her spine.

His fingers brushed the curve of her breast as he moved. "It's never nothing with you..." He stared up at her with searching amber eyes.

She looked down at him but couldn't hold his gaze long. "Except this time it is." She licked her lips. "It's getting late. I should go." She moved to sit up but his arm lay heavy across her waist and kept her in place without much trouble.

"Stay."

She bit her lip. "Teddy will-"

"Understand." He lifted up on his elbow. "He loves you. Has for ages now. He thinks of you like his own mum."

She swallowed tightly. "I know," she whispered. "I really have to go though. I have to be in to work early and-"

"We have floo and you can apparate in and out of here in a flash." His fingers stroked her ribs, thumb tracing her stomach sweetly. "Stay tonight... Just..." He sighed. "I like waking up with you here..."

She couldn't deny how much she loved waking up in his arms, with his warmth all around her. But...

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What's wrong?" he asked, brow furrowed. "You've been distant lately. You keep leaving as quickly as you can and you're evading me every time I ask you what's going on." He shook his head, staring up at her with concern.

"It's nothing. I've just... been busy is all." Busy falling in love with a man who still loved his deceased wife.

His jaw flexed and she knew he recognized her lie.

"Remus..."

He drew away, tucking his arms behind his head. "I'll see you later then..."

Swallowing tightly, she rose from the bed, reaching for her clothes to cover her nakedness with haste. She could still feel the tightness around her breast where his teeth had sunk in, marking her. There was a heaviness to her limbs, each of them still so exhausted from the hours she'd just spent in his bed. Her hair probably looked even worse than usual and she was almost certain that if she paid any real attention to her nether-regions, she could still feel him pulsating inside of her. She felt a shiver run through her body and goosebumps fan out along her skin just at the memory of his bruising kiss and gentle hands.

For too many months this had been going on. Nearly a year now and she had almost managed to convince herself that her heart and body could be two separate entities. And then a few weeks ago happened and she'd felt his hands on her hips, his lips on her neck, and she'd lost all thought, all will to breathe, so lost in his scent and his touch. And like a well-placed stunner, she'd realized... She was in love with him. He who could never really love her; he who still mourned his wife and his son's mother. She had to separate herself from him, just enough to let her heart get over this malfunction, of sorts.

"Are you going to run away every time we get close?" he asked her, his voice heavy and deep.

She looked over to him. His long, lean body was the picture of masculine perfection. She saw past the scars that would never fade to see the truly beautiful man that lay beneath. The sheets lay across him, just barely covering his private bits and leaving the rest of his muscled torso for her eyes to freely peruse. He looked to her, amber eyes a mix of anger, confusion, and hurt.

"I'm looking out for us, Remus," she assured, shaking her head. "Staying over isn't constructive to this... To us." She buttoned her blouse with shaky fingers. They were still rich with the memory of stroking every hard inch of him, from head to toe.

"And what are we? Because I apparently missed the owl." He stared up at her with a frown. "One minute you're the most passionate woman I've ever know and you're lying in my arms like it's the only place you want to be. And the next..." His eyes fell momentarily. "The next you're gathering your clothes and acting as if we just closed a business deal."

Lifting a hand, she rubbed her furrowed brow. "It's been a long night and..."

He lifted from the bed to kneel, his body tense. "A long night of us making love all over this bed," he half-shouted.

Angry, she shouted back, "Making love would mean there'd have to be love in the first place!"

He reeled back as if she'd slapped him, his nose flaring and his throat noticeably tightening as he swallowed. "Right... You can leave then."

Closing her eyes tightly, she sunk her teeth into her lower lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Her hand fell to swipe a tear away. "I never meant to..."

"Yeah, well, neither did I." He stood up from the bed with little to no modesty and reached for his pants to drag on, leaving them unbuttoned and hanging attractively from his waist. He moved toward the door and she felt as if her entire world had begun to crumble around her too quick for her to grab hold of anything.

"Remus..."

He paused at the door.

When she looked at him, she could see every muscle rigid beneath his skin. She took four slow steps toward him, reached out and trailed a hand down the long, angry red scar that tore across his back; the one that was meant to kill but only managed to knock him out until the end of the war. The one that would've had him joining his most beloved wife had a miracle not saved him.

"I'm sorry I'm not her," she breathed, her voice hitching. Never in her life had she ever thought she'd say something like that. She'd always been so strong, so stubborn, so willful, and now... Now the love she felt for a man had broken all of that.

He turned around abruptly, his expression stricken. "You... You what?"

She wanted to take it back, she wanted to leave immediately, but his hands were wrapped tight around her arms, holding her in place, and if she were to apparate, he'd either come with her or be splinched in the process. She tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling; somehow hoping gravity might force her tears back into the sockets of her eyes.

"Look at me," he told her.

She wouldn't.

"Look at me!"

She shook her head. He shook her.

Her head fell, chin nearly brushing her chest, eyes damp with tears and cheeks streaked with them.

"I loved Dora with all my heart... And I love Teddy more than I could imagine..." He swallowed tightly. "And that part of my life will never truly be behind me. But..." He sighed, licking his lips. "But it doesn't mean I love you any less."

Her brow furrowed, eyes raising to his.

"And I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel that I have...." His thumbs stroked her arms now rather than keeping her still. "I was terrified for a long time that loving you would only lead to you dying on me too. I know how irrational that was but..." He shook his head. "I don't want to lose you. Not in any way." He stared into her eyes searchingly, patiently.

She let her tears fall freely then, a shuddering sob welling in her chest. She'd longed for those words, in ways she couldn't fathom. Once upon a time, she'd thought the volatile experience of a love-hate relationship with Ron Weasley had been the very highest of emotions she could feel. But now, standing here, she knew she'd been wrong then. Her equal was standing before her; perhaps jaded and scarred and much older than some would prefer. But he was brilliant and loving and he understood her in ways nobody else ever had. Her mind, her body, her heart; he interpreted them all.

His mouth twitched with a small smile. "I don't know what you want with an old werewolf like me, but if you're willing to let me, I'll love you with all of myself... And I'll never let you doubt it ever again."

Nodding, she lifted her arms to wrap around him, one of her hands burying in his hair. "And I'll love you the same."

He kissed her shoulder tenderly. "Then you'd better have a lot of room in your heart because you're quickly filling mine."

Squeezing her eyes tight, she stroked his neck and nodded into his shoulder. "You should know now that I'll be terribly bossy and I have a jealous streak that I rather hate to admit to and whether you know it or not, you're incredibly handsome so any witch who thinks to steal you away will undergo my very painful wrath..."

Laughing, he hugged her tight and lifted her up from the ground, walking toward the bed where he tossed her down and quickly covered her with himself. "Whatever in the world did I do to deserve such an incredible witch? Can you answer me that?" He cupped her cheek, fingers flicking her bushy hair from her cheek.

Her fingers gripped the top of his pants and tugged them further loose. "You have many qualifying and attractive attributes, Mr. Lupin..."

He quirked a brow. "Is that right?" Bending forward, he pressed a lingering kiss to her collarbone. "Would you like to tell me about them?"

Wiggling beneath him, she replied, "I'll list them all from best to least... But I may need a visual aid for some... Care to be it?"

He grinned. "Sounds promising."

Smirking, she replied, "As a professor, I must be every bit prepared."

"As you wish, Professor Granger... Carry on... And be as thorough as you need to be..."

Reaching below his waist, she cupped him tight through his trousers. "I have every desire to be just that."

Groaning lustfully, he buried his face in her neck, kissing her lovingly and Hermione could do nothing but return the same passionate gestures.

Now that the confusion was cleared, she had a future to look forward to; one with a wonderful man and a beautiful step-son. Tonks may always have a special place in his heart, but she was happy to know that she too had her own place as well, and she planned to stay there as long as possible.

Dear Readers...

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 02:39:13 GMT

(*sheepish*) Hi!!! (*waves*)
I know I haven't been around much. I'm working on it. I have started a new story in hopes that it might spark the old writing flame. So please go easy on me. If any of you are interested, I've started two new communities...

A Charlie/Hermione comm called: books_dragons

and

A Teddy/Hermione comm called, simply: teddy_hermione

Please, if you're interested, try to add to these two communities and get them up and in good working order!

Thank you all for understanding!
Much Love,
-Amanda

Theirs - T - Fred/Hermione/George - Part Two

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 02:34:47 GMT

Title: Theirs
Music: My Best Friend - Tim McGraw
Genre: Friendship/Romance
Relationship: Fred/Hermione/George
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!
Summary: (AU) Hermione Granger's life takes an entirely different path when she enters Hogwarts a year early and is befriended by a couple of pranksters who know something she doesn't that will very much effect their future together.

Part One,

Banner made by: crimsonemeralds of The Dark Arts!

Theirs
by: atruwriter

Part Two

Her life was both much easier and much harder from that moment on. Being the friend of George and Fred Weasley was not to be taken lightly. They were jokesters and had something up their sleeves at every turn. They could never be outdone but they enjoyed it when others tried. They were full of life and their main mission was to make sure she was insured with her own variety of the same. They carried her many books for her to the library and classes, never making fun except to joke that soon they'd have humps on their backs from the weight of so many. They told her of their plans for a joke shop, sharing each new invention of theirs with her and taking her advice to work out little kinks here or there. They teased her only as friends and never meanly, something she'd never really known of before. They created a bond with her that she'd never experienced in her life. They would always be Fred and George, a separate entity from herself, but they had brought her into their group and opened their arms wide.

"Why?" she once asked them shortly before Christmas hols, in a voice much stronger than the timid query sounded in her head. "Why me? Why did you try so hard just to... To be friends with me?"

They looked at her, more affectionate than she expected.

"You're our 'Mione," they said simply with a shrug. "We saw you and we just knew." They nodded before batting their eyes over-exaggeratedly. "You complete us."

She shook her with a sniff. "Ridiculous; the both of you."

They laughed, wrapping their arms around her in a tight embrace. "Just accept it Granger, you're stuck with us and we're never letting you out of our handsome and brilliant grasp."

She scoffed, breaking away from them. "I could leave anytime I want," she said haughtily, lifting her nose. But both she and they knew she really couldn't.

That Christmas, she was invited over for a small get-together at their home, a place called The Burrow. She was worried and uncomfortable and since she knew they had four other brothers and a sister while she had grown up an old child, it only made her more nervous. But her parents encouraged her to go, happy that she had found a place with the boys that she had written home about in many a letter. They were excited for her that she'd made friends and found her place, even if it was with two troublemakers of their caliber. And she did like them, more than she had ever expected. While every time she turned around, their eyes were bright with mischief and they had yet another trick up theirsleeve, driving her sensible self to the edge of her rope, she couldn't help but love them.

So she arrived at the Burrow via the twins and their father Arthur; a kindly older man who was fascinated with all things Muggle and quickly took a liking to her, her parents, and her house of Muggle objects. The twins had to forcibly drag him back to the fireplace to floo them away to the Burrow. When she arrived, it was in a flurry of action. There was red hair and freckles everywhere, people laughing and cheering and the bright lights of a lopsided tree were glittering from one corner. Seven large stockings hung from the fireplace mantel that she reached back for as she nearly tumbled to the floor, not quite used to this form of travel. Both Fred and George took either of her arms to steady her, grinning widely.

"Mum!" they cried loudly, over the din of the others. "Look what we brought you!"

"Yes, you're very own muggleborn; equipped with brains, sense, and an attitude that keeps trying to put us in our place."

"Trying being the operative word," Hermione muttered.

"Oh!" a round, red-headed woman exclaimed, pushing her way through the crowd to get to them.

"Happy Christmas!" the twins told her, pushing Hermione forward as if she were some kind of gift.

"I've heard so much about you!'" she said happily.

The twins sniggered.

She sighed, looking harried. "Tell me, dear, how do you do it?"

Huh?

"I mean, that is, how do you manage to put up with them? From all I've heard you're a smart witch, got your head on straight, diligent in school and even they agreed they're surprised you've stuck around..." She grinned. "It's always just been the two of them, you see. Why there's Lee, of course, he comes and goes, but never anyone who's caught these two's eyes quite like you have."

"Mu-uuuum," they groaned.

"Oh hush, I'm just saying that she must be special if you went out of your way to befriend her." She hooked her arm with Hermione's. "You are a tiny one, aren't you? Come, I'll get you something to eat and you can tell me all about school and how it is putting up with these two day to day. I'm Molly, by the way, but most call me Mrs. Weasley. Either is fine, dear." She dragged her away to the kitchen before Hermione could even get a word in. As she looked back at the twins, they waved, grinning as if they'd planned this.

For the next two hours, she'd be stuffed full, belly ready to burst, by Mrs. Weasley while she wholeheartedly spoke all about life with her seven kids and her lovely husband Arthur. This was, of course, in between her shouting at her many kids to stop doing this or that, to be nice to each other, to quit pulling pranks and to watch their mouths as more than once she'd caught the youngest boy, Ron, using foul language as he fought with someone over his beloved Chudley Cannons, a Quidditch team she knew of only because of the twins. Mrs. Weasley was a very nice woman and while she seemed to never stop chastising her children, Hermione could tell that she loved each of them more than anything.

The house was loud, quite a mess but a lived in one that she found acceptable, and not at all like her own clean and quiet house with her parents. There was always one or two red heads popping in and out of the kitchen, picking at this or that to eat and complimenting their mum in hopes of getting a sweet treat. She'd tut at them each time, sending them away and share a conspiratorial wink with Hermione before they'd share a cookie. She quite enjoyed just sitting there, away from the more excitable crowd in the living room. But just as she was thinking so, Mrs. Weasley was sure to shoo her away. "I've been taking up your whole visit, dear," she said with a grin. "Best send you off to the twins or they'll whine to me later. And at least with you I know they won't get into too much trouble."

Don't count on it, she thought. While she had, of course, tried to talk the twins out of many a prank and mischief making, she hadn't been successful. In fact, they seemed to enjoy her reprimands and only tried harder, watching for her reaction to it all.

"Oh I'm sure they won't mind," she said, a little uneasy at the prospect of going out into the party.

"Nonsense. They've been talking about your visit all hols. I heard them, of course. They don't confide in their old mum like they used to." She shrugged before waving Hermione away with a spatula and getting back to her cooking.

With a sigh and a stiffened, resolved spine, she tentatively took a step out of the kitchen and into the living room, eyeing up the others rather nervously.

"You the twin's girl then?" a cheerful voice called out.

She turned abruptly only to raise her chin quite high to see the speaker. A tall chap, long red hair in a pony tail and amused brown eyes stared back. "Is that a fang?" she said, eyes catching on his ear.

He grinned widely. "Yup."

She nodded rather dumbly. He was incredibly tall, slim, and was dressed much like she would think a rockstar would, not something she ever really expected in the Wizarding world. But he had the twins smile and so she didn't judge. "And yes, I'm the twin's friend. Not their girl, as you put it," she said strongly.

He laughed. "You'd have to be pretty confident to be their friend, so I guess I see the reason now. Any idea where my two fun-loving brothers went off to?"

"No. I've just spent most of my time with your mother, actually. Hardly seen them." She frowned.

"No worries, kid. We'll find 'em." While she found his reference to her as 'kid' rather rude, his voice was oddly warm and comforting, like an older brother might sound. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and started weaving them through the crowd. "Name's Bill by the way," he said to her, loud to get over the noise.

"Hermione," she told him, raising her own voice to be heard.

He nodded. "I'd say look for a couple of red-heads but I s'pose that doesn't help us out much here, does it?" He gave her another grin and she chuckled lightly. "Well, there's my brother Charlie, you met him yet?"

She shook her head no, not bothering to tell him she didn't really want to as she'd much rather find her friends as she knew it would be quite impolite, and so she let him drag her over to the other man, much shorter than the tall figure Bill made. Charlie was stocky and covered in so many freckles it looked like a permanent tan. He had the bright red hair that it seemed all Weasleys bore and his grin was a little more crooked than the twins but just as warm. He held out a large hand. "The twin's girl, yeah?"

She sighed at the term and didn't miss Bill's amused smile. "Friend," she corrected. "I'm their friend."

Charlie and Bill exchanged a look and a light laugh. She shook his hand politely and then returned her hands to their clasped state in front of her.

"You work with dragons?" she asked, remembering the twins monologue about their family, of which they were obviously quite proud.

Charlie's eyes lit up. "Yeah, over in Romania. You ever been?"

She shook her head. "How many dragons would you say were in your care?" she queried.

"A good dozen, at least. Why?" His brow furrowed.

"Just curious is all." She lifted a shoulder. "I'm quite fascinated by the magical creatures here. I am a little uncertain about their housing though. Most have been kept in captivity, much like a Muggle zoo. But then I suppose it must be quite important as you wouldn't want to frighten the Muggles or endanger the magical. Would you agree that the dragons are well taken care of at the reserve or do you think it would be in their best interest that they were free?"

He lifted a brow. "Smart bird, huh? I think the dragons are happy. Happier than they'd be if we let 'em go and they got themselves killed just for being..." He quirked a smile. "I'll give it some more thought though, how 'bout that?" He lifted a brow. "I have a feeling you'll be around a lot and we can definitely continue this conversation again."

She nodded, smiling, looking quite forward to it. She frowned a moment later, however. "You haven't, by chance, seen Fred or George, have you?"

He looked around and then shook his head. "Probably around here somewhere, causing trouble I'm sure."

She sighed. "Yes, that was what I was afraid of." She turned around. "I better go find them before the house is inside out and our genders are switched."

They stared at her wide-eyed.

"It's not so unbelievable," she told them. "You'd be surprised what you start to think can happen after awhile with those two..." She thinned her eyes suspiciously.

They laughed, shaking their heads. "You're a keeper," they agreed.

Whatever that meant.

Looking at them queerly, she turned on her heel to look for her two non-rule-abiding friends. Instead, she bumped into a young girl, perhaps two years her junior with the same bright hair and big brown eyes. She was muttering under her breath as she left her seat where someone who appeared to be related to her was grinning proudly as he sat in front of a chess board.

"Oh! Sorry," the younger girl said, looking her up and down. "You must be Hermione!" she suddenly exclaimed. "The-"

"Please don't call me the twin's girl," she interrupted.

She laughed. "I'm Ginny."

Hermione nodded. "Nice to meet you."

Ginny's brow furrowed before she shook her head. "Are you looking for them then?"

"Yes..." She sighed heavily. "Seems I've seen almost every Weasley but them..."

"You've met Ron then?" She quirked her head back toward the boy in front of the chess board. "Take my advice and don't play him. He loves to gloat that one." She blew out a breath of irritation. "Never played so much chess in my life and I don't plan to ever again." She crossed her arms over her chest grumpily before looking up at Hermione rather sheepishly. "I think the boys are upstairs. Probably planning something that'll shock the pants off of everybody, not literally I hope." She giggled before she spotted someone and hurried off.

Hermione turned toward the stairs and started to climb them rather nervously. She didn't want to go parading around a house she didn't really know or walk into a room that she shouldn't. But she couldn't very well stay downstairs all night with nothing and no one to spend her time with. The other Weasleys were all very pleasant of course, but she'd really only come for her friends. So she went upstairs and began searching, calling their names earnestly and hoping they'd appear soon, even if they jumped out of a door and scared her like they were so apt to do lately.

She heard muffled noises coming from a room and after much deliberation, she finally knocked. It took quite some time before somebody finally opened the door, looking very annoyed that he had to in the first place and she was sorry to see it wasn't the twins but instead Percy, who she had only seen and never met at Hogwarts. "Yes?" he asked, readjusting his glasses on his upturned nose.

"I, er, was looking for Fred and George and Ginny said they might be upstairs... I'm sorry to bother you, I didn't mean to-"

"There; that door," he said, pointing and before she could thank him, he shut the door quite rudely in her face.

With a frown, she talked herself out of sticking her tongue out and turned to walk to the other day where no noises were coming from. She knocked once, no answer, twice, still nothing, three times and she was about to give up before the door opened and she was dragged inside quite suddenly. She shook their hands off her arms huffily and put her hands on her hips. "And just when were you going to come find me?" she asked, irritated.

"Knew you'd come looking for us, love."

"So if we went looking for you-"

"While you were looking for us-"

"Then nobody would be found!" they exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes before moving to sit down on one of their beds. "I've met nearly your entire family, I believe. I spotted Ron rather than met him, but that's beside the point."

"Ah, you don't need to meet him anyway," George joked, sitting down on her left. "You didn't happen to bring us any of our mum's delicious treats, did you?"

"Why ever would I do that?" she asked innocently. "She's been ever so nice while you two have barely spoken a few sentences to me."

"Come on, Mione," Fred implored, sitting down on her other side. "You know us; we were just giving you some time to get used to all the red hair."

George smirked. "Bit of an eye-sore, yeah?"

She chortled but withdrew the napkin filled with goodies for them anyway. "Here you are, not that you two deserve them..." She lifted her brows.

They took their sweets from her excitedly, quickly stuffing their mouths.

"You havin' fun?"

She shrugged, not really sure what she was feeling.

"Lot of us, huh?"

She nodded.

"Not to worry." They wrapped their arms around her. "You got us here and nobody messes with our girl."

She shook her head. Curious that she didn't correct them, she would think later.

Part Three.

Theirs - T - Fred/Hermione/George - Part One

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 02:22:37 GMT

Part One

Hermione Jane Granger, born a Muggle and introduced to the incredible world of magic when she was just eleven years old, had never imagined her life turning out quite like this. Before entering Hogwarts School for the Magically Gifted, she read every possible book she could find to update herself on the culture she'd be entering, certain that she would not step into her new roll as witch lightly. From a young age, she had done everything in her power to be as knowledgeable as she could in every subject there was and she had grown to be a very intelligent but rather unusual child for her age. So it came as no surprise when her parents and she found out that she was far more than the average person. When it came to her attention that she was a witch, many light bulbs had been switched on, and she took to it rather excitedly. A whole new life, a new world, a new range of subjects and theories and topics for her to dive into head first and immerse herself in and she had done so with the greatest enjoyment.

"Hermione, pumpkin, you do realize what this means?" her father asked, his brow crinkled with worry.

"Yes, of course, daddy..." She lifted her nose as she often did when she was quite certain of something, acting much haughtier than any ten year old should.

Her parents exchanged a look.

"You'll be spending almost all of your time at school, dear... We'll only get to see you during breaks." Her mother looked down, chewing her lip.

Hermione's nose was no longer in the air. If she were to be honest, that wasn't what she had been thinking at all. Her parents were her anchors; they were there to always remind her that she was not, in fact, unusual but instead special. She was bright for her age, and they loved her no matter what she was.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't be horrible if I stayed home and continued regular schooling..." She couldn't keep her disappointment from her voice.

"Oh no!" Her father shook his head vehemently. "You have a gift, Hermione. When have we ever hindered that? You must go, we just... We want you to understand what it means. You'll be all alone, pumpkin. You'll make friends, I'm sure." He grinned. "Who couldn't love you?" He reached out, tapping her nose as he had since she was much smaller. His smile wavered with a sigh. "You'll be very far away though and we don't have the same abilities..." He readjusted his glasses, gaze falling to the floor.

"I'll write every day," she declared, nodding sternly. "And I'll visit you as much as I can!"

They smiled at her, proud once more and she felt the warmth fill her stomach just as it had when the letter first arrived.

She was going to become a true and real witch!

On her first day of school, she was younger than most. Her birthday didn't fall until September 19th and so she was ten and not eleven when she stepped off the Hogwarts Express to be met by a large and rather loud man with a beard of scruff and a booming laugh. She saw the others cower some but as she gazed up at this man who looked like what a giant might from her many childhood books, she could somehow tell that he was anything but mean. And as he bent low, not wanting to scare them off with his towering figure, and told them all to follow him, she caught a glimpse of his large kind eyes. His name was Hagrid and she found herself likening his large beard and hair to her own and for that reason she decided she liked him. A completely illogical thought at the time and she'd surely tell herself so later, but instead she stiffened her shoulders, grabbed her trunk, cooed at the cranky Crookshanks that sat in his carrier and followed along behind Hagrid while the rest of her classmates watched on in uncertainty.

Hogwarts was amazing, even more incredible than all of the dreams and hopes her mind had built it up to be. She was giddy to learn things that nobody back home would ever know. Sorted into Gryffindor, she took her position very seriously and she did her best to stand up to the definition of her house. But while she portrayed an outwardly calm and confident girl, some days she truly missed home. She missed the warmth of her parents and the comfort of her own bedroom and more than that, the easy hideaway that was the many tall bookcases filled with all her treasured books. Here she was in a school far grander than her home and without the reassurances of her parents to keep her confident. She made no friends; it seemed that while she was nice enough and smart beyond the limits of the many in her classes, no Gryffindor's or other houses alike seemed to care much for her kindly attributes. And so she stiffened her shoulders each day and she went on without letting her self-consciousness show. She wouldn't let it get to her.

But it did. Many a night she felt the sting of tears and she clamped them closed tightly. She locked her jaw to stop it from wobbling and she gripped her fists tight so they'd quit their shaking. She muffled what cries did manage to escape in the large pillow of her bed. Each morning though, she'd get right up, do her best to tame her bushy curls, brush her too-large teeth and don her robes as properly as she must. She'd pick up her heavy books and return to classes as if she hadn't a worry on her shoulders at all. And she believed quite strongly that nobody noticed her despair. Until one morning when she entered the Common Room, long before any other witch or wizard had arisen, in hopes of getting to breakfast early before she made her way to the library for a few touch ups on her homework that she hoped to look up in time for class.

As she stepped of the girl's stairs, she heard a tongue click.

"Quite a sorry sight, yeah?"

"Indeed."

"All alone, nothing but books and a spine so stiff it's bound to render her useless soon."

"Best loosen her up, I say."

"'Tis our job, brother."

"Yes, yes, can't let her be a spot on our Gryffindor house."

"A spot?" She turned around, her cheeks red with anger. "And just what kind of spot do you think I am?" she snapped.

They grinned at her and her eyes thinned. The Weasley Twins; yes, they deserved capitals. For if there was any a student that she simple did not want to attach her name to in friendship or otherwise it was these two.

"Caught her attention, we did."

"Ah, yes, all in the plan of course."

"Rightly so. I thought she might ignore us a bit longer, but-"

"Right to the point, she is."

"Good."

"Very."

Hermione tapped her foot with irritation. "Can I help you or are you done speaking as if I'm not here?"

They were at her sides before she could even blink, lips curled in that annoying smile of theirs. "Just wanna help you out, love. No need to get uppity."

"Yes, we're very nice chaps, we do promise."

"Oh and I'm supposed to take your word, am I?" She lifted a brow. "The word of two pranksters who don't care who they torture this week?"

"Oh we care, of course. Our pranks aren't to be played on just anybody."

"No, no, they're an accomplishment that even you, Granger, would definitely take a great pleasure in learning."

"I think not," she told them swottily, turning her nose up and quickly circling on her heel before she made her way toward the door.

"When you've grown bored of those books and want a couple friends-"

"You know where to find us!"

"We're very amicable, we promise," they called simultaneously.

She scoffed, shaking her head. Holding her book bag a little tighter, she vowed that even if her tomes were her only friends, she'd be absolutely fine.

But she wasn't.

It took one whole month before she admitted defeat. They weren't the type to give up easily either. They took to sitting on either side of her at meals, talking over her head to each other. They interrupted her library time to crack jokes and plan out whole elaborate pranks with her sitting there, pretending not to listen, all the while completely distracted and rather surprised at just how innovative they could be. They followed her to and from classes, almost as if they were her personal guards, even managing to show up out of nowhere when she'd managed to escape their attention. She was certain they had some kind of knowledge of the school that rare others knew of! And as much as she told herself that befriending the twins would be a very, very bad idea. The promise of friendship was something she wasn't sure she could pass up. It was lonely being so far from her family and she had nothing really to comfort herself with. Crookshanks could only keep her company so much. He had quickly taken to disappearing in the castle for unscheduled fun and gallivanting.

"I think McGonagall might suspect something."

"Doesn't she always?"

They were talking over her head once more.

"Yes, but this time I think she may have proof."

"Gasp, Gred. As if we, in all our glorious talent and brilliance, could leave something behind that might incriminate us."

"Too right, Forge. But I believe this time we may have been slightly distracted."

"Oh that's right... Seems our favorite firstie got herself in a spot of trouble."

"She did, she did! I can't believe it myself, but... What was it again?"

"Stealing goods from the slimy git's special storage room."

Hermione blushed but dutifully kept her eyes on her parchment.

"Right, right, of course. How could I forget? And almost getting caught by Mrs. Norris, rooky mistake, wasn't it?"

"Oh yes. Hardly believed my eyes when our brilliant witch was found hurrying her way through the secret passageway, muttering to herself about the abomination that is that cat."

"How did she find that secret passageway anyway?"

"I don't know, brother. She's been very tightlipped, hasn't she?"

"Quite."

Hermione sighed. "So I may have noticed you using it a time or two and it may have been slightly important at the time and there is a small possibility that I needed an escape route when I might've accidentally set off a protection charm on Professor Snape's storage closet, but really..."

"Yes?" they purred, smirking.

She pursed her lips. "You offered to show them to be anyway."

"Yes, we did."

"When, of course, you finally agreed to be our friend."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, there should be a time limit on how long pranks can last."

"Aghast, brother, she thinks we're playing her."

"Indeed she does."

"And we're not!"

"No!"

She sniffed, disbelieving.

"In all this time she still can't trust us." They stared at her with faux-mourn. "What must we do?"

"What we ask?"

She looked from one to the other and sighed. "You know, I really think it's incredibly cruel of you to pick me out of the entire school to bug like this. I'm nice, you know. I do what I have to. I study and I mind my own business and I've never done anything to either of you. So that you two go out of your way-" She snapped her book shut. "Well-"

Their hands covered her mouth, one over the other.

Her eyes narrowed, glaring at them.

"We're not pranking you." They grinned. "We're offering you a grand opportunity. And a brilliant witch as yourself..." She looked back and forth at their identical looks of innocence. "Well she should surely know that being friends with us and learning all she could would only further those smarts."

She lifted a brow.

"Now, instead of thinking of this as a cruel and poorly constructed plan to prank you..."

"Think of it as a way for you to learn the ways of this world in a very interesting manner not written in any of your books."

Interesting.

Their hands fell away and they stared at her, waiting for her mind to come to some conclusion.

"And what, pray tell, do you think you could teach me?"

They smirked and she knew she'd just gained her first and second friend.

A/N Wow... Er, been awhile, yeah? I'm so, sooo sorry. I just... I've had a lot of personal problems I've had to deal with and writing has been put on the backburner for far too long... It's been awhile seen I wrote anything... so please be forgiving here. I'm going a new route, this is a Fred/Hermione/George story, not either or. It doesn't delve too deep into the books, I must admit. In any case, I hope you've enjoyed the start here... I already have the majority of this written up, so updates shouldn't be too far off. Also, for those of you wondering about my many other stories, just please give me some time to get back into my writing and I'll try to update as soon as possible!

Please review; it's very appreciated!

Much Love,
-Amanda

Part Two.

atruwriter News

Mon, 12 May 2008 19:17:57 GMT

Faithful readers,

I apologize for my delay in writing. For those of you wondering if I have abandoned any of my stories, I haven't. They will be updated in time. Writer's block as me under the weather and so for now I'm just trying to get back into writing as fluently as I did before. I hope you'll all understand for now.

In other news, my story Only In The World of Dragons was nominated for a UFO Award and the voting has begun. I'd appreciate it immensely if everyone who enjoyed my Charlie/Hermione story, would please pop on over and take a moment to vote for me!

Thank you all for being patient!

Much Love,
-Amanda
~*~atruwriter~*~

Constant Vigilance - T - Alastor/Hermione - OneShot

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 05:13:07 GMT

Title: Constant Vigilance
Rating: T
Relationship: Alastor/Hermione
Music: Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Summary: Very few knew why Alastor Moody was so adamant on constant vigilance. It was a sorrowful lesson learned.

Banner made by: Beautiful Disaster of The Dark Arts!

Made by: sarcastic_fina

Constant Vigilance

1/1

Very few knew why Alastor Moody was so adamant on constant vigilance. It was a sorrowful lesson learned. He’d been young once. Handsome and carefree, in a world where the likes of Voldemort had not yet tainted everything he touched. He’d been an Auror in his prime; a father and a husband, before it was all taken from him. He’d married a beautiful young woman who was more brilliant and powerful than any witch he’d met before her. A level head, a strong dueling background, a desire to fight the darkness in the world. She was twenty-three when she appeared before him in some odd magical mix up that had her stuck in a place she didn’t know. At twenty-seven and the hardest working Auror there was, he was always one for sussing out the truth and nothing but. However, there was something about her honestly lost expression that told him she wasn’t making up some rot on the spot. Time travel. Even in his day and age, it was still unlikely. Then again, she was apparently from the future.

With no job, money, or home, he offered her a place on his couch. It wasn’t much and he was even shocked with himself for doing something so… unlike him. But she accepted and was oddly comfortable with him. Somehow, her being there on a daily basis, cleaning and cooking and looking after him after he’d returned from work, scathed and angry, changed his feelings toward her. She was always gentle with him, but not so much so that she was a doormat. She told him to stop being a baby when he growled at her as she cleaned his wounds with Muggle antiseptic. She was strong willed and confident in herself and she never backed down when he got mad. He grew fond of her quite fast and when one late evening she’d been changing his bandages, he noticed how soft her mouth looked, he didn’t turn away and pretend it hadn’t happened, but instead took the opportunity to kiss her. She was far more responsive than he expected and from then on, she never slept on the couch, but curled up next to him in his bed. It was a no nonsense relationship and he liked that. Too often he’d met witches who complicated things, but his little time traveler didn’t like complications. She liked order and rules and he agreed with that assessment.

Of course, her reason for being there was never far from his mind. If she could go back in time, couldn’t she return to her own at any given moment? And how far ahead was she? Did they know each other? Did they like each other? What did it mean that she was there? He didn’t know much about time traveling and she’d been quite tight lipped about the subject, choosing instead to ignore her current position in time. Still, curiosity eventually got the best of him.

He asked her once, “In the, uh, future… We ever meet?”

She shifted around, eyes turning away sadly. “Yes. We were acquaintances, I suppose.”

It was hard to wrap his mind around; that he could only be a passing person in her life, when here, now, in this time, she was his life.

“So your being here then, it’ll mess things up?” he wondered, lifting a brow curiously. “What if you meet yourself? What happens then?” There were so many questions. But the answers weren’t something he was sure he wanted to know.

“I don’t think I’ll ever run into myself,” she murmured quietly. “And as for the timeline, I have no idea. Time is complicated. There’s a chance that… That the you I knew then already met the me you know now.” She shook her head. “I suppose we were fated to meet.”

“Fate,” he scoffed. Bollocks, he wasn’t going to get into the deep heavy subject anymore. “You interested in fish for dinner? Got a few down at the lake this morning.”

“Sounds great,” she replied, letting him change the subject.

He wasn’t the type of man anybody would like to see her with. Sure she was confident and stubborn and stood her own ground, but she had a gentle appeal to her that he had a hard time coping with. He’d grown up rough around the edges and they’d never really smoothed over. He was straight to the point, almost callous in a way, and he didn’t bother with tears or feelings. But she made him feel. She simply smiled whenever he growled his impatience or frowned at her excitement over anything. She loved to read while he enjoyed hunting down dark wizards and beating the bleeding hell out of them. She was the soft to his hard; the emotion to his restraint; the feelings he buried and locked away.

It was barely a year before he asked her to marry him, in a very unromantic way he supposed. He was degnoming the garden outside of the small cottage they shared; something he’d bought a couple years prior. It was rather isolated from the rest of the world and he liked the extra safety precautions she’d helped him put up. It was fairly small, large enough for a couple and perhaps a child one day. She was reading a book, researching a new potion for her job at the Ministry. It hadn’t been easy to make up fake credentials – well, they were fake in his time, but not hers – but they had and she was quickly put to use.

“You busy Sunday,” he asked her, yanking out a particularly nasty little gnome as it tried to burrow deep beneath the carrots.

“Not really,” she replied, turning a page in her book. “Why?”

“Figured it was a good day as any t’ get married,” he replied, lifting his broad shoulders in a shrug.

“Alaster Moody, is this your way of proposing?” she asked in an astonished whisper.

He winced. He really hoped his rather unsophisticated way of doing it wouldn’t be the final icing on the cake that made her realize she could do far better. He wasn’t the most handsome bloke around. Sure he had what Hermione referred to as soft strawberry-blond hair and piercing green eyes, and perhaps he was a little on the sturdy side what with all of his work as an Auror. He was tall, lean, and well muscled. But he wasn’t particularly nice or even all that warm. He had a hard time admitting his feelings, choosing to pretend he didn’t really have any, and he often forgot that she did. But he loved her. By the Gods, he did. Her thick, lustrous brown locks and her soft smile that made his insides turn to mush. He’d never admit it – sneer and scoff at anyone who talked that pansy shit about him. But he felt it. He loved holding her early in the morning, before either of them had to go off to work. He loved going to sleep with her. Her natural scent lingering around him; like ink and old books and often sweat, seeing as they’d just put their rickety old bed to good use. He loved lathering her body in soap and washing it from her curves as they showered each morning. Kissing her soft, unchapped lips, smooth against his cracked, weathered mouth. And he loved how she didn’t try to change him; she never forced him to show more emotion or say the things he was thinking. She accepted his gruff appearance and attitude and simply loved him for it.

“Depends on your answer, doesn’t it?” he replied uncomfortably, throwing another gnome across the yard, refusing to look at her.

He could hear her steps as she walked up behind him and a moment later, her hands fell to his shoulders. “I’d like that very much. Sunday is a great day for a wedding,” she murmured.

He half-grinned before clearing his throat. “Good. It’s settled then.”

She squeezed his shoulder and a moment later, he felt her press a kiss against his neck, just below his ear. His hands stilled in the dirt, forgetting entirely about anything else but her. It was a sharp bite from a gnome that drew him out of his wistful stillness. She chuckled as he cursed the little bugger, ripping it from the confines of its small hole and throwing it as far from their house as he could. “Nasty little…” Brushing his hands off, he decided he was done with it. He walked over to his fiancé and tugged her up from her seat by her hands.

She smiled at his dark frown and wrapped her arms around his neck. “All done then?”

Instead of replying, he gripped her waist and lifted her up from the ground. A few minutes later, their clothes were shed and the rickety old bed in their small little cottage was worn thin as they celebrated their soon-to-be nuptials.

They were married two years before she became pregnant. They’d been careful, often using potions and charms so they could enjoy their time alone together. His job was hard enough; he didn’t want to add another name, another life to the list of people he had to worry about. He was well known as one of the most accomplished Aurors alive and he took the title quite seriously. But he paid the consequences for it. His family had been threatened more than once and while most of his coworkers told him it wasn’t out of the ordinary, he didn’t like ignoring the possible harm of the only two people that mattered to him.

His son greeted the world on a bright Sunday morning; Ezekiel Jonas Moody. Zeke for short. He had a shock of blonde hair atop his small, round head, and brown eyes like his mum. He sounded like her when he hollered too. He was stubborn and smart and unbelievably good at getting into things he shouldn’t. He was Alastor’s pride and joy from the moment he set eyes on the boy. But the happiness Alastor felt was soon to be taken away. His job was becoming more high risk by the day. Scars that would never heal marred his body and the stress was taking a toll. Threats came in on a daily basis; all telling him to stop searching for dark wizards or they’d come looking for him and they wouldn’t leave him unscathed.

“Comes with the job, mate,” people would tell him.

And then those threats became very real. He returned home one night from a late evening at work. He wished they’d figure out a quick charm to do his paperwork for him. He found her lying face down in the field, her robes torn and bloody from head to toe. Her hair was matted so much not even the harsh wind around them could pick it up from the ground. And lying dead just fifteen feet from his beloved wife was his son. Zeke had only learned to walk a few months prior, but it looked as though his wife had hoped a miracle would have their babe run for safety away from the house. It was obvious a very nasty Reducto had reduced her to the bloody mess on the ground and he felt his body shake from head to toe with rage. With a shuddering scream to the heavens, he fell to his knees at her side and dragged her limp body into his lap. His calloused hands ran over her hair, the crusted blood keeping him from threading his fingers through it like he usually did. Her eyes were closed tightly, her face a pale white, her mouth stained with blood.

He didn’t cry. He screamed and yelled and hollered and cursed but not one single tear escaped his eyes. He didn’t know who alerted the authorities, but one minute he was holding his beautiful wife and son in his arms, rocking back and forth as the sun set far in the distance, and the next he was heavily sedated at St. Mungo’s. It was weeks before they let him out, with no choice really as he wasn’t a threat to anybody, or so it appeared.

His family had been taken. Killed and buried and forgotten; just another casualty of the job. He couldn’t accept that. He stepped up his work against dark wizards and he tracked down each and every one that had a hand in their deaths. He had a hit out on him that was not to be taken lightly, but he was more powerful than ever. After an incident involving poisoned firewhiskey, he learned never to take anything from others. No bars, no pubs, he brought his own drinks everywhere. He sealed off his cottage; made it impenetrable. Nobody would ever set foot on his land again. Their graves sat as a reminder in the field outside of their home. He picked the same wildflowers she used to replace with fresh ones each morning in a vase on the table and put them down by their headstones each day. He’d apologize for not being a better husband; for not being there when she needed him; for not saving her and doing his job as he was supposed to.

“Constant vigilance,” he’d tell her dark grave each day. He learned too late.

He’d dress in his Auror robes then and he’d go out and fight for her memory; always on the lookout, always wary of all who passed him.

Years later, as he battled the dark wizards of the world, over and over again, a seemingly unending battle, during the second war against Voldemort, he finally met his end. He’d lost limbs and his eye and a deep piece of himself over the years. He’d lost his family, his heart, and the only really true and gentle part of him. He lost everything but the job and the ache and the persistent need to prove their deaths didn’t go unpunished. He fought and he dueled and he put all of himself into taking down the darkness of the world. And in the end, he was happy to go. To leave the ravished world around him, to go down fighting and attacking and winning. He was much older, much wiser, but far too jaded to keep going. As the light faded from his eyes, he grinned. He knew where he was going; he knew who he would see.

In the distance, there standing in the field of wild flowers stood his beloved wife and his handsome son, running free with his strawberry blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

“Took you long enough,” she told him, smiling gently.

“Had some business to clear up,” he replied gruffly.

Hermione Moody reached out to him, taking his worn hand into her own and squeezing. He felt like the young man that first met her. On a warm Sunday afternoon, where she appeared out of seemingly nowhere, knocking him flat onto his back while he had been deep undercover. He drew her up close to him and inhaled the natural scent he’d so mourned the loss of over the years. She felt just as soft and pliable in his large arms as she did the morning he left her, never to hold her the same again. She kissed the underside of his jaw just as she always did and rested her head against his shoulder. “Your business is done then?”

He sighed, nodding jerkily.

“Good,” she said. “You have much to catch up on.”

With that, she motioned toward their little boy as he came running back toward them.

“Daddy!” Zeke cried, arms spread apart. “You’re home!”

This time, he did cry.

A/N Very different from my usual pairings, I know. But it came to me and so here it is. Pstibbons is always telling me to expand my horizons, so here I give you the oddest pairing I've ever written. There'll never be another Alastor/Hermione, but I'm happy with how this turned out.

It's my 21st birthday tomorrow! Yay me!

Hope you enjoyed this. Please review; it's very appreciated!
Much Love,
-Amanda

Mine - NC17 - Marcus/Hermione - OneShot

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 20:31:13 GMT

Title: Mine
Genre: Romance
Relationship: Marcus/Hermione
Music: I’ll Attack – 30 Second to Mars
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Summary: He was sick and tired of every bloke that ever crossed their path thinking they had a chance with her.

Made by: crimsonemeralds of The Dark Arts!

Made by: sarcastic_fina

Mine
by: atruwriter
1/1

Marcus Flint was a possessive man by nature. He held his position in Quidditch in great regard and anybody who put that in jeopardy was quickly reminded of why he was the best beater in the league. The same could be said of most things; if Marcus treasured it, it wasn’t to be touched, looked at or thought of. Perhaps it was the Pureblood in him, or the Slytherin higher-than-all-others mentality that he’d lived with for seven long years. He couldn’t pinpoint it to one thing. He’d grown up with a father who was very strict and made sure that his son knew what was his and how it wasn’t to be used by anybody but him.

As the years progressed, there were only two great loves in Marcus’ life; Quidditch and his girlfriend. They were the most unlikely couple to most; a Slytherin and a Gryffindor that seemed to clash more than meet. However, their relationship was not quite as complicated as some might think. She loved her books, he loved his Quidditch. She hated cooking, he enjoyed it. She loved baking; he couldn’t find the patience for it. Where she fell, he rose and vice versa. They made up for their misgivings, which came in handy since he had many. She could be obnoxiously intelligent while he was incredibly laid back. He could hold a conversation on most any topic; he just didn’t go searching for mental stimulation like she did. He was stimulated more by the rush of the game and when he wasn’t, he found it in her.

She was a beautiful creature, perhaps not in the most conventional of ways. She didn’t have flawless skin, but a spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was thick and bushy, a waterfall of curls that his hands loved to grip and wrap around tightly as they spent quality time creating that rush in the privacy of their bedroom. Or in some cases, the not so private back porch of their house, the counters in their kitchen, the floor by the fireplace, the sunken bathtub, the stand up shower, the guest rooms, the pantry when guests were over, the backyard beneath the old oak tree, and various other places outside of their home.

They met at a pub, shortly after a loss for his team and a win for her friend Weasley’s team. The annoying group was celebrating loudly in the back while he was sulking at the bar. She came up, flushed and in need of water when she spotted him glowering over his four lined up shots of Firewhiskey. Stealing one, she knocked it back easily and sat down beside him to congratulate him on a game well played. Surprised and a little miffed, thinking she was actually teasing him, he turned to tell her off, instead finding his tongue grow three sizes too big. She was really quite pretty. She was smiling at him genuinely and she didn’t seem put-off by his brutish scowl at all. She seemed much tinier than him; a short, slip of a girl compared to his 6’3 tall frame of all muscle; wide shoulders, slim waist, rock hard in every place that counted. At that moment, however, despite his stature, celebrity, and background, he felt incredibly small compared to her; so pretty and free and completely comfortable sitting there next to him.

He grunted his thanks, unable to unfurl his tongue.

Her eyes glittered with laughter before she took another shot from in front of him. She lifted it to him and his large, calloused hand wrapped around a shot glass, raising next to hers to clink lightly.

Seven more shots would be shared between them while she listened to him retell the game, telling her exactly what he thought he did wrong and how he could rectify it next time.

“You remind me of Wood,” she told him, eyes thinned in deep thought as she nodded. “So driven by the game.”

He shrugged, frowning. “Wood,” he muttered.

“You don’t like him?” her tone was more curious than surprised.

“I don’t like any of my competition,” he told her, lifting a brow as if he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t know that.

“But why?” She shook her head. “They’re doing just the same as you. Playing the game. Do you think they dislike you as well?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t care.”

She frowned. “Well I doubt it. Oliver is a nice enough man.”

Marcus snorted. He had the childish urge to ask her why she wasn’t drinking with him then, but instead knocked another shot back to keep himself from making a fool in front of her.

“So where are your friends then? Why are you out here glowering alone?” she asked curiously, turning sideways in her seat and crossing her legs.

“Best mate Adrian had a date, rest of the team went home, I guess. I dunno.” He sighed, moving his glass around in a circle, watching as it slid the excess water around it into a puddle.

“Are you hungry?” she asked suddenly, her hand falling to her stomach and a frown marring her face. “I’m starving and those boys’ll be busy for some time. You want to get something to eat? I’d like the company if you’re interested.”

He was so shocked he simply paid the bill and stood up with her. He wasn’t her type at all. Admittedly, he didn’t know of anyone she dated, but he knew that girls like her didn’t go for blokes like him. He was gruff and moody and he didn’t talk much. He wasn’t the most handsome bloke, even with magically transformed teeth and the various hair removing techniques his manager made him go through so he’d be more appealing to the masses as a pro Quidditch star. He was all rough edges and gruff personality. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two and so he likely had quite the shadow around his jaw, his hair was still a little damp from his shower after the game and he was wearing very casual clothing compared to her fashionable outfit.

She looped her arm with him as they left, looking all the more small against his side. He had to look down to talk to her now, which was spent listening more than speaking really. But he liked watching her face light up as she spoke, her hands moving around rapidly and her eyes lighting up each time she glanced up to catch his gaze. “Oh, where would you like to go? Anywhere in particular?”

He shrugged. Food was food to him.

“Right,” she said, pinching her lips in thought. “How about the Three Broomsticks then? Haven’t been there for awhile.”

He nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Right then. Off we are.”

She apparated them both with a small pop and he was surprised to find himself just a foot from the door. She opened it for the both of them, ushering him in before her. She scanned the room for a place to sit; it was quite busy really. She grabbed his hand and brought him back as she spotted a spare table. He kept his eyes off the people around him, sure that they all must be staring in shock that he could possibly manage to catch that attention of such a beautiful, brilliant witch. He’d had his share of brainless groupies that could barely say more than, “I like fame, want to go back to my hotel?” So he wasn’t low on offers, just on those reaping the benefits of both beauty and intelligence.

They ordered something to eat, sitting across from each other, her comfortable while he squirmed in discomfort. “So,” she said, lifting a brow at him. “Tell me something about yourself.”

And somehow that started his tongue moving. Since the subject was him, he really didn’t have much to hide. He could focus on himself and not be so entranced by her and found his mouth opening easily as he spilled little facts about his life and family. She listened earnestly, quite interested in what he had to say, despite the fact that his life really wasn’t all that enthralling. She was respectful enough, however, not to yawn or change the subject, simply laughing at funny stories and reaching out to touch his forearm when there were darker parts.

They ended up spending most of the evening sitting at the back booth of the Three Broomsticks, discussing family, friends, their school days, work, and life in general. He laughed more than he ever had before. She wasn’t put off by his brooding manner or his rather gruff appearance. He noticed more than once that she actually shivered at his coarse, husky voice, her eyes falling to half mass. He later realized that his voice did things to her; made her squirm in her seat and rub her thighs together. She also loved his hands, how rough and calloused they were, scraping against her soft skin.

That night started something never expected; a bond between the two of them that would go on for another six years, leading up to this night. Where she stood next to him at a Quidditch banquet; it was a week before the Quidditch World Cup where he’d be playing for the British National Team as beater. She was dressed elegantly in a dark red floor length gown that whispered over her curves gently. His hand sat possessively on her far hip while her hand covered his, thumb stroking the top. Potter and Weasley were around somewhere, probably avoiding the fangirls lurking everywhere. He was stuck listening to Crawford chatter on and on while barely hiding the way his eyes seemed drawn to Hermione’s chest rather than her face. He’d already put up with four other blokes hitting on her. One of which grabbed her arse while they were dancing, a second that “accidentally” brushed her breast with the back of his hand while trying to brush away something on her shoulder. A third tried to kiss her which ended with a broken nose on his part and a scowl for Marcus as she led him away from the scene. Drunk or not, if another bloke tried to get in her knickers he was going to Avada someone.

He’d been dealing with it for ages. She was a well known witch that had grown quite attractive and had the brains to keep a man interested in more than just a quick shag. But she was his witch and he was more than a little tired of blokes who seemed to think they could best him and take her away. She may not have a ring on her finger, but she was completely taken. Most knew, most accepted, but there were a few daredevils who tried their luck at outdoing the snake and suffered the consequences for it.

“Oh Marcus, it’s just the drink that has them all this way. I’m sure they’ll all be owling us their most respectful apologies in the morning,” she told him, her hand running up and down his back soothingly.

He scowled deeper. She really didn’t quite grasp just what an important and worthy woman she was. He couldn’t imagine how many chaps would give everything to be in his place. Admittedly, he knew he wasn’t worthy either. She deserved someone smarter, better looking, less surly. But she loved him, for reasons he didn’t know, and while he didn’t say it often, he loved her too. He’d put up with his fair share of ribbing from former Slytherins, shocked to see that he had won over the Gryffindor princess. And he’d ignored the persistent voices telling him one day she was going to leave him, that she was using him to make someone else jealous (like Weasley). Six years she’d never given him any hint that what they had wasn’t going to last. She’d been to his every game, ranted over all of his injuries, listened to his long spiels over good and bad games, and even put up with the likes of Malfoy and Zabini.

“Respectful,” he heard a familiar voice snort and turned to see his best mate, Adrian Pucey standing nearby with a flute of champagne. “Right, it’ll probably say something along the lines of, ‘So sorry about last night, Flint . But really, could you expect any less? Beauty and the Beast was a fairytale, my friend. Can’t blame a bloke for trying.’” He lifted a brow, grinning winningly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “How much have you had to drink, Ade?” she wondered, her nose wrinkling. “And I had no idea you were so interested in Muggle children’s fairytales.” She scowled. “Beauty and the Beast, I’m really getting quite tired of the reference.” She smiled up at Marcus wickedly and he shifted on his feet, mind wandering to the last time they spoke of the subject.

Rita Skeeter had written a scathing article about the two of them being more like Beauty and the Beast and that he was actually holding her captive through the Imperious curse. He’d wanted to take her head off with his beater’s bat, but Hermione had quickly distracted him. “A beast, really?” She climbed into his lap, her mouth curling with a smirk. “Well, perhaps in bed. You can be rather…” She pulled his head forward, her lips ghosting over hers with a raw meld of gentle and harsh. “Rough,” she breathed out before nipping his bottom lip. Her fingers slid up the plains of his face, sliding into his hair and gripping it tightly.

His hands slid up her legs, squeezing her thighs as they pushed up her nightgown. Her eyes fluttered as the coarse palms of his hands wrapped around her hips tightly, drawing her down into his lap.

She gasped against his mouth, her tongue trailing over the seam of his lips. “Personally, I rather prefer the wild side of you.” She slid her body up against his and he could feel the curves of her breasts against his bare chest. A hand slid up her back, pushing the straps of her nightgown off and tugging her top down until she was gloriously free of any hindrance. He leaned down, kissing a path from her collar to the valley of her breasts. He watched gooseflesh fan over her pale, porcelain skin as his stubble grazed her. His lips slid to the left, wrapping around the rosy center of her breast, mouth quirking with a smirk as she gasped and arched against him.

“Marcus,” she cried, breathlessly, her hands gripping his hair tight.

“Marcus?” he heard again, but now from a loud and annoyed male voice.

His mind wandered back to the present and he cleared his throat, eyes landing on a peeved Adrian . Hermione was smiling up at him mischievously, as if she knew exactly what he’d been thinking of. “What?” he asked, tone harsh.

Adrian rolled his eyes. “Nice time to just zone out on me, mate. Coach wants all the players up at the front,” he said, nodding toward where Coach Perkis had a bunch of blokes and two women huddled together.

Marcus sighed but nodded. His arm fell away from Hermione who smiled at him encouragingly. Sometimes, it still rather surprised him that she could be so supportive and so caring of him when he didn’t appear to be the type of person who appeared to want that kind of attention. He only appreciated it in her. Not even his mother fawned like she could. It took a few years for him to grow used to her attention and even then, he sometimes felt like he didn’t show her enough consideration back. But she never said anything, never told him he ignored her or should say he loved her more often. It was likely one of the reasons they worked so well together. She didn’t want to change him.

He made his way to the front, scowling at those around him. He nodded at the coach, standing between Crawford and Adrian, impatiently waiting for the introduction to begin and end. He hated these things; always had. Could care less whether or not there was a big gala every Quidditch cup. He’d much rather be back home, relaxing in bed with his girlfriend. ‘Course home wasn’t entirely peaceful lately, either. Not with his mother constantly owling him to ask when he was finally going to make Hermione an honest woman. At least she’d stopped sending the family ring with every note as a hint. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry Hermione. It was more that he wasn’t sure she wanted to marry him. Sure, she’d stuck around six years, but some days he felt as though it was all just some tease by the Gods; that they’d take her away and laugh in his face. She was far too… everything for him. She never said so and she’d never implied that he was less intelligent or lacking in looks. But he saw the blokes that looked her way and they were all far more than him. Less gruff, easy to talk to, book smart, and had more to talk about than Quidditch.

Still though, she always turned away from their advances. “I’m happily seeing someone,” she’d tell them with a firm shake of her head. Or, “No, thank you, I’ll be celebrating with my boyfriend this evening. I’m sure there’s a lovely single woman here who would enjoy your company.” She’d then babble on about who she knew that wasn’t dating for the time being, often asking if they knew Luna Lovegood and then calling the dreamy blonde over to meet her potential suitor, who then became flabbergasted and uncomfortable, leaving shortly thereafter. It was fun to watch, at least the outcome of every offer each man tried. Though seeing them hit on her always stomped on his last nerve. He couldn’t count how many noses he’d broken or the many times he’d scared the wits out of a chap just for ogling her. Still, no matter what he did, it seemed there was always another willing to step up and try.

Marcus barely heard the coach going on about what a great team he’d put together that year. His eyes were focused on Hermione, standing in the crowd, a glass of champagne in her hand as she listened sincerely to his coach, smiling and clapping appropriately. He nodded when his name was called, did his best to show some semblance of a smile when the cameras turned his way, but mostly waited for the attention to finally end. He’d lost track of Hermione somewhere in the flash of the bulbs and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew she could handle herself; he just didn’t like the idea that she had to. He spotted Potter and Weasley by the refreshments, apparently in a deep discussion with Hermione nowhere in sight. He watched Adrian walk off with a buxom blonde, winking back at his best mate as his hands roved down to her arse. The crowd from the front had dispersed, going back to the festivities while he was left wondering where his girlfriend had disappeared to.

He did nothing to hide his scowl as he forced his way through the crowd, eyes scanned faces for her familiar brown eyes and warm smile. He finally caught sight of bushy brown hair and turned abruptly to get to her. There was no way he could confuse her thick brown locks for anybody else’s. She was leaning against the bar, motioning to the busy man behind it to get her a water when he wasn’t bogged down. Next to her was a smirking man with wandering eyes. His hand kept reaching out, brushing her shoulder, stroking her arm. It wasn’t until he tried to wrap a strand of her hair around his finger that Marcus finally snapped.

There was a tiny voice of reason whispering in the back of his mind that he should calm down, sounding quite a bit like Hermione’s rational voice actually. He ignored it entirely. When he was close enough, his hand wrapped around the front collar of the man’s shirt and shoved him a foot back. “Sod off!” Marcus told him, sneering.

“Steady, mate, jus’ tryin’ to give the lady a goo’ time,” the man told him, glowering.

“She’s not interested.”

The man smirked mischievously. “I think she is. I think she be getting’ wet jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He nodded his head toward Hermione and licked his lips lewdly. “How ‘bout it then, beauty? You want a real man t’ satisfy the ache between your—“

Marcus’ fist collided so heavily with the man’s face; the entire room went silent at the cracking noise. There was no stepping back and taking a deep breath to calm himself now. There was no reasonable voice telling him that he and Hermione could just walk away. All he saw was red; which was understandable seeing as he was beating the bloody shite out of the man before him.

He felt the knock against his chin but it didn’t faze him much. He’d been hit with bludgers worse than that. Grabbing the front of the man’s robes he lifted him up only to slam him back down against the floor harshly. Hands were yanking him back, trying to pull him away from the heavily bleeding arsehole that he’d laid out and was happily turning into mince meat.

“Marcus!” he heard through the angry fog that clouded his mind. It was her voice and it wasn’t just in his head this time. His fist stopped mid-blow. He could feel blood dripping down the end of his knuckles. He was panting, his chest heaving, the black clouds that surrounded his vision fading. The flashes of cameras were catching it all and people were standing around, staring down in shock. “You’ve proven your point!” Hermione announced.

With a sneer, Marcus let go of the man’s robe and stood up, shrugging off the hands of Potter, Weasley, and even Adrian.

The man on the floor moaned in pain, rolling over to spit out a gob of blood.

His jaw clenched in anger, his body tense with the fury rippling through his veins. He was sick and tired of every wizard out there thinking they could treat her like she was some prize to be won. She was taken. She was his. And he wasn’t going to let them have her. Ever.

Without saying anything, he turned around and took Hermione’s hand. A loud pop reverberated around the house as they side-along apparated into their bedroom. He knew she was mad; he didn’t have to see her to know. Her hands were likely on her hips, her foot tapping against the floor angrily and her hair frizzing slightly with her temper. He tugged off the stifling tie around his neck and tossed it away, undoing his robe a little so he didn’t feel so harnessed. He sat down on the side of the bed and leaned forward, elbows perched on his knees as he glared down at the floor, knowing what was coming.

“You can’t just attack every man who pisses you off!” she shouted shrilly. “I understand that male posturing is something relevant in all Quidditch players, but honestly!” She stomped her foot. “He was a little drunk, Marcus. I’m sure after I politely declined he would’ve pissed off. But nooo…. You had to stake your territory, or- or- prove your manliness. Whichever!”

He rolled his eyes, frowning.

“Well?” she asked, impatiently.

He looked over at her from the side of his eyes, one of his brows lifted questioning. Well what?

“What d’you have to say for yourself?” she asked, lips pursed and cheeks flushed with anger.

She always looked rather exotic when she was mad. Her body taut as a bow, her chest heaving, her skin flushed. His lower body reacted instantly to the image and his eyes narrowed slightly, head tipping to one side as he surveyed her body. Gods, she was downright sexy. The man back at the bar saw only a fine shag, but he… he saw much more than that. He knew every sensitive spot on her body; he could find each one with his eyes closed. He knew what made her toes curl and her head fall back in passion. He knew what made her mewl and moan and beg for more. He knew what dirty words turned her on and that she was never one to just take it, but to fight for dominance each time. He could feel the heat coiling in his stomach. His anger was still there, still simmering at the very edge, but his want for her was competing for his attention now.

She recognized the glint in his eye and lifted one finger as if in warning. “Marcus…”

He was off the bed and pinning her to the wall so fast she barely had enough time to gasp. Her had her hands clasped with his and pressed tightly just above her head. Her feet were off the floor, her thighs spread apart and her heat pressed up against his robe covered bulge. “He got what he deserved, ‘Mione,” he said through grit teeth, his lips a mere hair’s breath away.

She was panting, staring into his eyes that were quickly glazing. “Violence is never the answer,” she whispered with much less zealous than she probably meant to.

“It’s the only thing these blokes seem to understand,” he replied, his tongue darting out to lick her top lip, making her shiver against him, her eyes falling to half-mass. “They should never touch you. Hell, they shouldn’t even look at you,” he sneered.

She shifted her hips, rolling them against him. “So possessive,” she murmured, leaning her head forward and taking his bottom lip into her mouth, nibbling at it, slow and torturous.

One of his hands slid away from hers, traveling down her arm until it was grazing the side of her neck, walking the curve of her breast, and finally at the hem of her robes. He pushed them up to above her waist, revealing her long, slim legs and small black lace knickers. He trailed his forefinger over the apex of her thighs; she was already damp for him. She bit down on his lip as he teased her, fingers sliding along the sides of her panties.

“I’m not going to apologize,” he informed her with a growl.

“You never do.” Her head fell back, hitting the wall slightly as he tore her knickers away from her. She could always magic them back together if she really wanted to. He tossed them to the floor carelessly before smoothing his hand up her soft, shaking thigh.

“Maybe they’ll learn this time,” he said, kissing up the slope of her neck, nipping at her skin and grinning as she arched into him.

She snorted indelicately. “You said that when you put Clint in St. Mungo’s or when that other drunk chap wouldn’t stop grabbing my arse,” she reminded.

“Well the message just isn’t getting through their thick heads,” he sneered. He pressed into her harder, grinning as she moaned against the pressure between her legs. His other hand slid down from hers to part her robes at the front, revealing her pale blue bra. He pushed the cup out of the way and wrapped his hand around her breast roughly, squeezing and massaging it as he kissed along her jawline. He could feel his few days of whiskers grazing against her skin and felt her shiver at the feeling.

“Just because they keep trying,” she choked out, eyes fluttering and teeth biting down into her lip as she moaned. “D-doesn’t mean that I’m ever going to agree.” Her arms looped around his shoulder, fingers gripping his neck and his hair. She tugged at his robes, as if telling him to get them off. Quickly; now.

Instead of answering her plea, he kissed down her chest until he found the rosy center of her breast and took it into his mouth, teeth digging into the soft flesh around them. She cried out, her hands tightening in his hair. Her hands fumbled at the shoulder of his robes, managing to push them down some. He had to lift his arms away from her to get them out. Her fingers dug into the tensed muscles of his biceps, gripping them harshly, her nails scraping at his skin. He shifted his hips away from her just enough to let his robe fall to the ground, leaving him standing in nothing but naked glory.

His hands found the sleeves of her robe and tugged them away, his mouth venturing up to taste her shoulders and her arms. He could feel her breasts pressing deliciously against his bare chest; so smooth against the hard plains of his torso. Her hands fell down from his arms, trailing down his sides, fingers delving into the muscular sculpt of his body. Were they on the bed, she’d be kissing a familiar path all over his stomach; her tongue tracing the muscles and delving into his navel.

He didn’t have the patience to take her robes off entirely, instead tugging her thighs up higher on his waist until her legs wrapped tight around him, ankles clasped just above his arse.

He found her mouth once more, kissing her hard and desperate. And then he was thrusting into her, deep and thick. She whimpered against his lips, nipping his tongue as it explored the roof of her mouth, tickling her. One of her hands fell low to his back, holding tight as if to encourage him to keep going, while the other tangled in his hair, gripping it and tugging it each time he sunk into her. He broke away from her mouth, his lips heatedly tracing down the front of her neck as her head fell back. Her hips rotated with his, meeting each of his thrusts knowingly. She was so hot and wet and tight around him; it was driving him mental with desire.

He wasn’t her first, he knew that, but he was her last. When the war was still a high priority, she’d had a brief romance with the Weasley twins and later tried dating Viktor Krum again. Despite most assumptions, she and Ron Weasley never got together, thankfully. And then Marcus met her in that bar and it was all history after that. The first time they shagged, it was after his team had a big win and she’d met him in the locker room to congratulate him. Luckily, it was empty at the time and the shower came in quite handy. They moved in together after two years of dating, much to Mrs. Weasley’s and his own mother’s disappointment. They were adamant on marriage before cohabitation. Then again, neither probably agreed with sex before marriage either. Not that he much cared. The Weasley family wasn’t his biggest supporter, by far, but they accepted Hermione’s decision and didn’t meddle. Well, not enough to actually break them up. Ginny often hinted that Hermione would be better off with her brother and Mrs. Weasley always mentioned some nice bloke Hermione might like. They gave up after four years though. Now six years into their relationship, everybody was just waiting for them to make it legal.

For six years he’d put up with the lustful glances. The overconfident expressions of men much better looking than him, thinking they could get her flat on her back anytime. The glint of impending triumph in their eyes and the want for a little competition. But she wasn’t a game to be played. They all wanted to say they’d beat out Flint for his girlfriend and nobody had won so far. And so the game became more interesting. If it wasn’t Hermione telling them where to shove it, it was Marcus shoving his fist in their faces. He thought after six years, his point would be clear, but apparently not. Would a ring on her finger really make any difference? She wasn’t telling him it was what she wanted. She wasn’t reminding him that all of her friends were happily married and she wasn’t. And never once brought up the Flint family ring when he sent it back to his mother. She just accepted things as they were. He suddenly wondered if that should worry him. Didn’t she want to marry him? Didn’t she want to be his always? Shouldn’t she be asking him for the ring and the marriage and the promise?

He thrust into her harder, suddenly even angrier than before. Did she really only want him for however long? Sure she hadn’t accepted those other men, but she wasn’t exactly telling him he was going to last either. His teeth grazed down her chest, nipping rather harshly at her skin, suckling it and laving it with his tongue. One of his hands gripped her hip while the other was pressed against her shoulder blade, drawing her closer.

They were making the walls shudder. The pictures were rattling, one even fell, and the loud noise of them hitting the wall echoed around their house. He could feel her quivering tightly around him and his resolve was breaking down. But still, he kept his pace. In and out, hard and deep, better and better each time. She was whimpering his name, nails scraping his back. He slid an arm beneath her and lifted her up a little higher against the wall, giving them a new angle that had her arching her stomach against him and groaning. He shook his head as worries of one day she might be calling somebody else’s name, her heat might be surrounding somebody else, her hands might be clutching another man’s body. He pressed into her deeply before pulling them against the wall and stumbling toward the bed. She lay sprawled across the blanket, her arms out and her hair lying around her hair in a halo of dark curls. Her eyes were surprised for only a moment before they fell shut as he pistoned into her. Her knees drew up and he threw one of her legs over his shoulder, his hand holding the back of her thigh as he hovered over her, his head falling and his mouth finding the pebbled center of her breast once more. His hands held her sides, thumbs stroking her ribs. Her fingers tangled in the bedspread beneath her, curling the blanket up beneath her fingers.

Could anybody else make her moan like that? Make her cry out and wiggle in want? To bite her lip so hard it nearly bled or her insides quiver and shake, tighten and grip. Would anybody else ever kiss her flesh or touch her breasts or sink deep inside of her? He sneered. Never!

His body clenched angrily and his hands tightened against her sides. He could feel her skin become slick beneath his fingers, could see the way her chest heaved with her panting, could feel her thighs tighten. He lowered his upper body against hers, stretching her leg farther back as he let his lips hover just above hers.

“You’re mine,” he growled possessively, nipping her lower lip and panting into her mouth heavily. “Always.” He sunk into her deeper, harder and she moaned loudly, hips bucking up to meet his. “We’ll get married. Tomorrow, yesterday, I don’t care. And then… Then they’ll bloody well learn… They touch you, they die.” He kissed her harshly; teeth gnashing, tongues tangling, lips swelling. “You’re mine!”

She nodded, eyes fluttering. “Gods, Marcus, yes,” she called out as he drove into her. Her hands gripped his back, nails digging in.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he murmured, over and over, as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, suckled her breasts, marked her with his teeth and tongue and touch.

She managed to turn them over somehow, her leg falling from his shoulder to sit curled against his side. Her hands wrapped around his biceps, pinning him to the bed beneath her. Her head ducked low and her mouth kissed from his navel to his neck, teeth nipping, tongue licking, lips caressing. Her fingers flexed against his muscled upper arms as she lifted and fell, enveloping all of him inside of her. He thrust upward, unable to simply lie there and take it. The meeting of their hips became erratic and he smirked as her back arched and her head fell back, pressing her breasts out in an erotic image. He lifted up onto his elbows and took one of her breasts into his mouth, teasing it as she rose high in ecstasy and crashed heavenly over the waves of pleasure. “Mmm, yes! Marcus! Marcus! Marcus!” she sobbed, her fingers finding his hair and weaving through it, holding his head against her breast.

The quivering of her heat around him sent him over the edge and he bit down against her soft flesh as he broke. His arms wrapped around her body, holding her close, hands gripping her slick back, fingers digging in. He could feel the ends of her hair brushing against the back of his hands, so soft against his rough skin. His eyes fell shut and he panted against the valley of her breasts as his body became consumed with the incredible sensations gripping his every nerve. As quickly as it had taken him, it felt as if it dwindled and he was falling back to the bed, exhausted. He took her with him and felt her soft body fall bonelessly against his chest. He could feel her heart heating erratically against his chest.

Reality crashed down on him and he closed his eyes tightly, scowling into the darkness of their bedroom. Sweaty and rather weak, he lay beneath her, arms encircling her tightly as if worried that if he let go, she’d leave. Him and his pathetic attempt at asking her to marry him. It wasn’t even a question really. He’d more of ordered her to love him for the rest of their lives; ordered her to his and his alone. It could’ve just been the incredible waves of ecstasy that had her simply letting him decide their future and now that it was over she’d realize what he’d said and answer in the negative. Her body was so soft against his and light as she lay sprawled over his chest.

“You’re mine,” he told her, but this one held less certainty, almost a question. As if her answer would decide everything.

It seemed like an eternity before she answered and his hands held onto her a little tighter, thumbs stroking her skin.

She whispered sleepily against his chest, “And you’re mine.” That said it all.

He smirked, holding back the sigh of relief. Yes, he was.

A/N Finally! I can get this out. Took me forever but I got some time and it just spilled out. Marcus was a very interesting character to write. Hope you enjoyed this!

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review; it's very appreciated.
Much Love,
-Amanda

While You Were Gone - T - Fred/Hermione - Chapter Four

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 22:50:03 GMT

Title: While You Were Gone
Author: atruwriter
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Pairing: Fred/Hermione, George/Alicia, Harry/OC, Ron/OC
Rating: T
Genre: Romance/Friendship/Humor/Family/Drama
Summary: When Ron and Harry can't assimilate to life after Voldemort, they decide to leave for awhile to find themselves. In the wake of their disappearance, Hermione is lost on her own, only to be found by two of the most unlikely people. Friendship, love, and loyalty were built to a strong degree, but years later, when her former best mates return, life becomes an emotional mess,

Previously: Prologue, Interlude One, Interlude Two, Interlude Three, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three,

Made by: Alora of The Dark Arts!
While You Were Gone
Chapter Four

Hermione smiled farewell at the last customer to leave her shop, locking the door up with a strong charm and then returning to her till to take out the days earnings. She'd bring it home and go through what was made and place it in a safe place after adding the numbers up in her ledger. After filling the sack she regularly used, she tied it to a loop on the inside of her robe and walked toward the reading circle her three children were currently enjoying. They summer had them out of daycare and Muggle elementary school, so Hermione brought them in with her to spend the day. Some days Fred took them out and others Molly watched over them, but for the last while they'd been reading every children's book on the shelves, of which she was sure they owned at home, and drawing more pictures than Hermione had places to pin them to.

“You guys ready to go?” she asked as she entered the circular space. Austin and Brody were putting away the last of the chalk and crayons while little Aiden snoozed away on one of the beanbag chairs. Smiling lightly, Hermione moved over and gathered her youngest up in her arms, not surprised to see her three year old daughter simply snuggle closer and continue sleeping. She was like her father that way; could sleep through just about anything.

“Can we stop and get ice cream, mum?” Austin asked, closing the box of chalk and wiping the remnants off on his pants unapologetically. He looked up at her with his green eyes wide and hopeful.

Snorting, Hermione shook her head. “Maybe after dinner you can have some. We'll see. We've gotta get home though, or you're dad will get there before us again,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She nodded her head at them to follow and then made her way toward the stairs leading to the upstairs office. She felt Brody take hold of the back of her robes, his small hand clinging to the fabric. The old stairway had no lighting and Brody had a long standing fear of the dark. He usually made Fred or her carry him through shadowed areas but Hermione's arms were already filled and she was adamant that he learn that there was nothing hiding in the dark. Not anymore, anyway. Austin, unlike his brother, jumped up each step, which took much longer to get up them fully, but he simply smiled whenever his mum sighed in exasperation.

Hermione took a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the grate. “You first, Austin,” she told him, motioning with her hand.

Nodding, Austin stepped into the green flames and shouted, “The Dwelling.”

As he disappeared in a swirl of green, Hermione turned to her middle child, smiling at him encouragingly. “Go on, Brody sweetheart, you've done it a thousand times before. You're practically a professional,” she told him, winking.

Shifting on his feet, he walked forward as his mum tossed some more powder into the grate. “You'll come right after?” he asked shyly.

“I promise,” she told him, nodding.

Taking a deep breath, Brody followed suit, jumping into the grate and closing his eyes tight, shouting out the name of their home.

Sighing, Hermione looked down at her sleeping daughter. “I have no idea where the shy bit comes from. Both your father and I have never been the most introverted of people.” Her daughter snoozed away and Hermione smiled at her, rubbing a curled finger over her soft cheek before she tossed the powder into the grate and followed after her sons.

“Hah!” Fred greeted her, Brody in his arms and Austin chewing on an apple as he stood nearby, looking up at his parents. “Beat you again! How many is that this week?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Three out of four days, but I have three left and I plan to win this.” She pointed her finger at him before walking toward the kitchen.

“Not gonna happen, love. We'll be vacationing where I choose this time,” her husband exclaimed, following behind her. “Isn't that right, B.W?”

Brody looked at his mum and then back at his dad. “Probably,” he allowed, shrugging.

“Traitor,” Hermione teased, winking at him. “Bet Austin thinks I'll win,” she boasted, looking over at Fred with raised eyebrows.

“'Course he will,” Fred said, reaching back to ruffle Austin's red hair as he followed them into the kitchen.

“What?” he asked, through a mouthful of apple.

“Who d'you think will win the bet?” Fred wondered, sitting down in a chair at the table. “So far I have three days and your mum has one. We've got three left.”

“Mum,” he replied immediately, looking over at her with a smile, his chin covered in dribbling apple juice. “She always does.”

Hermione smiled smugly at Fred, who rolled his eyes, grinning. “Son, one day you'll learn that men have to stick together.”

“He will not,” she denied, crossing the room to stand in front of him, her eyes thinned coyly. “He'll grow up to learn women are almost always right and men simply have to live with it,” she told him, her voice lowering as he came closer, his head bowing so their faces were just mere inches from meeting.

“Mione, love, don't lie to the boy,” Fred replied, his nose brushing against hers. “We both know that the only women who're usually right are you and mum, and half the time we men agree out of survival instinct.”

Hermione laughed, nuzzling his cheek with her nose. “Then you'll agree with me now, Fred Weasley, or risk your life. I haven't had my welcome home kiss yet and that's surely a poor execution on your part as all knowing man.”

Smirking, Fred nodded, leaning forward to brush his lips against hers. “Simply building up the momentum darling,” he breathed, his mouth slanting across hers in a well known ritual that had Hermione standing on her tip toes as he drew away inch by inch, trying her best to keep the wonderful sensations creating heaven in her lips going awhile longer.

“You guys are yucky,” Brody declared, shaking his head and reaching out to tug on his fathers collar to get his attention. “D'you really know everything, daddy? About the monsters in the dark too? Can you get rid of them? They want to eat me!” he told him, his eyes wide and his expression full of innocent fear.

“B.W., the monsters that live in the dark wouldn't dare eat you,” Fred assured, leaning back from his wife and putting all of his attention on his second eldest son.

“They said so! They said they would!” Brody told him, shaking his head, his eyebrows lifted. “I even did what Austin told me to and they still came back!”

“What did Austin tell you to do?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing as she looked over at her eldest as he froze, apple pressed against his open mouth, but not taking a bite, his eyes opened wide.

“He told me if I gaved it candy it would leave me alone. But it didn't!” Brody shook his head wildly with emphasis. “They ated the candy but they still came back for me!”

Hermione scoffed, turning quickly to see Austin slink towards the door. “Austin George! Were you scamming your little brother for sweets?” she asked, her voice raising with indignation.

“No!” he denied, his shoulders slumping as he turned to her, his mouth pouting. “The monsters didn't want the sweets so it was only fair that I ate them! I tried to help!” he defended.

Fred snorted. Trying to hide his amusement he turned his smiling face away from his angry and flushed wife and mischievous son.

“You know very well that there aren't any monsters up there!” she reminded, shaking her head and frowning at him.

“There are, mummy! I sawed them! They want to eat me!” Brody claimed, his voice rising with vigor.

Sighing, Hermione turned back to Brody to console him only to see her husbands shoulders shaking with laughter. “Fred!” she admonished, slapping his arm.

Shrugging, he looked over at her, his expression taking on one of innocence. “What? It's just... He's so much like me,” he told her, grinning over at Austin as he leaned against the wall, eyes venturing back to the door for an escape.

“Yes, well I'll deal with the mini-you if you'll please help Brody out of his irrational fears,” she replied, lifting a brow at him.

Fred let out a long breath. “You know, B.W., there used to be monsters in the dark. Really dark, scary ones. Ones that gave little children like you nightmares and even plagued adults like your mum and me,” he admitted, nodding as his son looked up at him with surprise.

“Even you, daddy?” he asked, his mouth dropping open in shock.

“Even me,” he told him. “But a few years before you were born, those dark monsters were destroyed. All the good wizards and witches of the world got together and they vanquished all the bad monsters from all the dark places in the world. And you know how I know?” he asked, looking down at his awed son.

“How?” he wondered in awe.

“Because your mum and I were two of those good people. We went out and we searched for all the monsters and we made sure they wouldn't hide in any more dark places or come after anymore good children like you.” He grinned at his son as he smiled slowly. “So you see, there aren't any monsters hiding in the dark and even if there were they'd know not to do anything to you. You're a Weasley, Brody, all dark monsters are scared of Weasleys!”

“All of them?” He looked only mildly doubtful, as he always trusted his dad to tell him the truth.

“Every single one,” Fred told him, nodding emphatically. “He's probably more scared of you than you are of him, that's why he keeps saying he'll eat you.”

“Yeah?” Brody asked, his expression brightening.

“Yup! So the next time he says he'll eat you, you just tell him, 'No way, monster, I'm a Weasley. I eat monsters like you for breakfast!'”

Giggling, Brody shook his head. “Eew!”

Chuckling, Fred messed Brody's hair up and then turned to see Hermione watching him with a soft expression on her face. Hearing the scuffling feet of her other son, however, her face fell and she turned to see Austin reaching out to push the door to the living room open.

“Not another step, young man,” Hermione called out, shaking her head. Walking over, she knelt down in front of him. “I'm very disappointed in you. Using your brothers fears like that for your benefit. What were you thinking?” she asked, reaching out to tug on his shirt so he'd lift his chin to look at her.

“Daddy told me he did somethin' like it to Uncle Percy!” he told her, shaking his head, eyes wide and brimming with tears. It was well known that the one thing Austin couldn't handle was his mother's disappointment.

Hermione's jaw clenched and she turned to look up at Fred who was wincing and backing up toward the door leading out onto the porch.

“My fault, love. Give the boy a break, I reckon,” he said, a strangled chuckle escaping him.

“Fred Weasley!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “Whatever will I do with all of you?” she asked, the fight going out of her as she looked around at the three men in her life.

“Love us lots and lots and never be disappointed in us?” Austin suggested, moving forward to wrap his arms around her legs, sticky apple juice fingers staining her robes.

Hermione sighed, her shoulders falling in resignation. “Will you never do it again?” she asked pointedly, though Fred knew she was no longer all that angry.

“I promise!” Austin proclaimed, lifting his head to grin up at her happily.

“Good. As punishment, no ice cream after dinner.” When Austin's face fell, she shook her head. “There'll be none of that. You should have thought of the consequences when you got all those sweets out of your brother.”

Austin pouted, his arms falling to cross over his chest. Before he could reply, Aiden gave a loud yawn and snuggled closer to her mother. “Sweets?” she mumbled, only slightly interested as she was still half-asleep.

Fred laughed. “How's my princess?” he asked her, coming forward to peer down at her sleepy face.

Aiden smiled up at him, her eyes half lidded. “You bwing sweets, daddy?” she queried.

“Not today, darling,” he replied, reaching out to tug on one of her fiery red curls. “After dinner you can have some ice cream, sound good?”

Aiden nodded, giving another yawn and stretching her legs out as if she were completely safe sprawled out in Hermione's arms.

“Why don't you all go play in your bedrooms awhile so your mum and I can make dinner?” Fred suggested, letting Brody down on the floor.

Austin looked up at his dad, a skeptical expression on his face. “You're not cooking, are you?” he asked, frowning.

Hermione snorted, reaching out to ruffle Austin's hair. “Stop teasing your dad and go play.”

Austin shot them both a wide grin before reaching out and pushing Brody's shoulder. “You're it!”

“I don't wanna!” Brody whined, racing after his brother all the same.

“I wanna be it!” Aiden shouted, squirming out of Hermione's arms to chase after them. “Bwody! I wanna!”

With the kitchen now empty, Fred advanced on his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist and twirling her about. “How was work today? Miss me terribly?”

Chuckling, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, shaking her head. “Not in the least. Long, interesting day. Couldn't spare a moment to think of you. Went splendidly.” She grinned up at him, enjoying his playfulness. This was a regularity in her life and she wondered sometimes if it was that thing missing from other people's marriages. They'd been married eight years and the spark hadn't been lost, the fun they had as two best friends was still there, the love hadn't dulled in the least. She couldn't imagine being closer to any other man, it was as simple as that.

“Didn't think of me once?” he asked, lifting a brow as his hands slid up her back slowly. He smirked as she shivered against him, her chin lifting as her head fell back, eyes connecting with his.

She shook her head. “Not once.”

“Not even a little?” he queried, his mouth quirking.

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps a very tiny, little bit.”

“How tiny?” he asked, leaning in to brush his nose down her cheek, teasing her lips with featherlight kisses that couldn't quell her desire but left her fighting stubbornly against the need to simply move forward and capture his mouth.

“So small I can barely remember,” she murmured, her eyes slipping down to stare at his mouth. She licked her lips unconsciously.

“'Fraid I can't say the same,” he told her, one of his hands burying in her thick curls. “Thought of you... a lot,” he drawled, nipping at her bottom lip but pulling back before she could encourage more.

“A lot?” she asked, breathless.

“A lot a lot,” he said, nodding. “Couldn't get you off my mind.”

“Really?” she asked, nuzzling his nose with hers. “And what brought on this... desire?”

“I think,” he whispered, his breath ghosting across her mouth, “it may have something to do with a promise given this morning. Something involving a bath, bubbles, quiet time... Ring any bells?”

“Perhaps one or two.” Hermione's mouth pulled in a smile. “Has that been on your mind all day? I daresay, Mr. Weasley, you must learn to reign in that imagination of yours.”

“Never,” he breathed, before slanting his mouth over hers. Hermione melted into the embrace, his mouth hot against hers, tongue delving and twisting with her own. She felt his hand tighten in her curls, bringing her mouth up closer, while the other pressed against her back, fingers splayed over her burgundy robes. He sighed into her mouth, his grip slowly loosening. Their kissing eased into small, leisurely pecks that felt just as deep and loving as their feverish kisses. He had a way with her that left her utterly breathless and she supposed that was one of many reasons they simply belonged together.

“We should get dinner ready,” he murmured, eyes still closed and mouth brushing against hers as he spoke. He slanted his mouth over hers a few seconds, nose nuzzling hers. “I was thinking some kind of pasta...” Trailing away from her mouth, he kissed a soft path down her neck, teeth making an appearance to nip at her teasingly. “Suppose a salad wouldn't kill me.”

Hermione snorted, her hands rubbing his shoulders and her head thrown back in happy defeat. “And what are you going to do while I make dinner?” she wondered, biting her lip as he suckled a particularly sensitive part of her neck.

Trailing back up her throat, he nipped the bottom of her chin and grinned at her as she stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Figured I'd play with the kids. Hide and seek, Exploding Snap, two on two Quidditch,” he listed.

Hermione frowned. “There's no way you're getting my babies up on brooms,” she told him, shaking her head, brows raised.

“Love, Brody is five already. Austin started that young!” he reminded, smiling.

“Yes, I remember well. Austin broke his arm two weeks in,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a step back to keep her head about her.

Fred reached out, rubbing her upper arms soothingly. “I'll be right there beside him the whole time. George will spot him on one side, I'll spot the other, and we'll get Austin to watch his front.”

“Yes, I can see it now! He'll fly forward, plow through Austin, and I'll have three boys in the hospital!” she told him, scowling.

“Three?” he asked, his brows furrowing.

“Yes, you'll be lying on a bed next to them when I'm through with you,” she warned, tapping her foot.

Chuckling, he shrugged. “I've been through worse.” Moving behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Come on, this'll be good for him. Brody's scared of everything, don't make him scared of flying too.”

Sighing, Hermione felt her shoulders fall. “Fine. But I want constant supervision. No running inside for a butterbeer while he takes a trip around the field on his own.”

“Agreed,” he said, kissing the side of her neck. “You know what would be nice?”

“A night to ourselves, with a blanket under the stars, a bottle of wine and only each other to keep warm,” she said, turning around slowly to look up at him coyly.

“You read my mind,” he told her, grinning slowly.

“Just like before,” she said softly, playing with the collar of his robes. “You remember when George found us? Clothes strewn about, wrapped tightly in that scratchy blanket of yours,” she said, chuckling.

Fred smirked. “Found my pants hanging off a branch in that tree,” he reminded. “Great night...”

“I bet Molly would enjoy having them over for a day or two,” she suggested, tugging his tie out from beneath his robes and undoing it. “She's always saying she wants to see them more. We could close up shop for the weekend, spend some time alone, just each other.”

“I think I could be persuaded.” Kissing her forehead, he turned when he heard the loud laughter of his sons from the second floor of the house. “We'll discuss it later. You look like you could go for a nice, hot, bubbly bath.” He lifted a suggestive brow and Hermione pursed her lips to hide her smile.

“All by my lonesome?”

“I think I know the perfect person to keep you company,” he told her, a slow grin tugging his mouth up.

“Oh?” She furrowed her brow, tapping her chin. “But I thought George and Alicia were still going strong,” she mocked in a faux-innocent voice.

Fred laughed, shaking his head. Waving a warning finger at her, he backed out of the room, calling up to the three rambunctious children that they had until the count of fifty to hide before he came and found them. Shrieking with excitement, they immediately scouted out places around the house to hide.

Author's Note: Sorry for the late update. Real life has just been really hard lately. I hope you enjoyed this! Those of you who are familiar with my Charlie/Hermione story, "Only In The World of Dragons," will be happy to know it's been nominated over at the UFO awards. It needs to be seconded to go into the final voting stage though. So please visit the site and second me!

Thanks for reading and reviewing! It's very appreciated!
Much Love,
-Amanda

While You Were Gone - T - Fred/Hermione - Chapter Three

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 23:46:50 GMT

Made by: Alora of The Dark Arts!

Made by: Jeanie of The Dark Arts!

While You Were Gone
Chapter Three

George appeared in front of a familiar bookstore, the swinging sign above the door had a bright gold scrawl that read “Brilliant Books.” He knew it'd be smart and easy to just walk inside and tell Hermione everything; tell her what Ginny had said and how his reunion with Harry and Ron had been; how his mother had reacted and how his anger had been more than he expected. But while he stood outside of the door, seeing through the glass pane the short, smiling woman he'd grown to think of as one third of him, he knew he couldn't go in and break her heart just yet. He saw his nephew run past her, waving a book back at her and rushing towards the back area where a children's reading circle had been made. Tables, chairs, chalkboards and a trunk of toys were set up for the kids that dropped in. It kept them occupied while their parents browsed the shelves of Hermione's extensive bookstore. She was well known for having any book a witch or wizard could possibly want; nothing was out of reach for her.

While the niggling feeling that she deserved to know and he shouldn't avoid the issue ate away at his stomach, he turned away from the store and made his way down the cobblestone street, concentrating hard and apparating away to the kitchen of his house. He could hear Alicia chastising the twins in the den and smiled to himself over the familiarity.

“Connor! Eli! I can't believe you did that to old Missus James' garden. She's been ranting all morning and I can't reverse it. You wait until your father gets home,” she told them. Their giggles proved that they were sure their dad would simply find amusement in their prank and she obviously felt the same as she quickly added, “I'll have him apparate you over to see your grandmum and you can explain it to her.”

“But mum!” the twins whined simultaneously.

“We didn't mean teh,” Connor denied, his voice ringing with innocence.

“It was a' accident, really,” Eli added emphatically.

“Judging by how dirty you both are, I highly doubt it was that accidental,” George called out to them as he entered the living room.

“Dad!” they chorused, grins forming as they got ready to tell him all about their incredible prank.

“Later,” he told them, motioning to the stairs. “Go get cleaned up, I have to talk to your mum.”

Exchanging curious glances, the twins red heads hurried over to the stairs, looking back at their parents suspiciously.

Alicia crossed the room, her brow furrowed and her mouth pinched with concern. “What's wrong?” she wondered, worriedly. “I haven't seen you this serious in ages.”

Taking a deep breath, he stepped closer to her, his arms moving to wrap around her waist and his head falling to sit comfortably on her shoulder. He breathed in the soft scent of apples from her dark hair and let his body relax as much as it could. He could still remember seeing the much older face of his youngest brother and feeling the embrace of his arms. The anger welled up in him again and he had to force it away as it threatened to ruin the comfort his wife or six years filled him with.

“George?” Alicia asked, her voice soft and hesitant. “Did something happen to Hermione or Fred?” The words were strained, as if the simple idea that either of them could have come by some harm was quite possibly the worst thing to ever happen.

While he and his wife were as close as two lovers could be, his connection with his brother and Hermione ran deeper than any other relationship he had. Fred was his twin and that was simply irreplaceable, while Hermione had quite quickly and easily filled a space they hadn't realized was open. The three of them were inseparable and he didn't even want to fathom what a life might be like without them there. His body tensed when he realized how much hurt the return of Harry and Ron would truly cause. Things had reached a normality for the Weasley family; they were no longer pining away for the lost family members. They missed them, of course. Hoped they were safe and happy out in the world. But they no longer spent their time waiting for a reply or a glimpse of them somewhere. They'd moved on as best they could, welcomed life as it came at them.

“You're starting to scare me,” Alicia whispered, her voice shaking.

“They're back,” he said, his voice muffled in her shoulder.

“Who's-- Oh,” she cut herself off, her voice full of shock. “Ron and Harry,” she confirmed, her voice low. “Do... Do they know? About any of it?”

“I didn't talk to them really,” he admitted, his arms tightening around her.

“And do Fred and Hermione know they're here?” she wondered, her hands running up and down his back soothingly.

George shook his head against her shoulder. “Didn't quite have the courage to tell them yet.”

“I don't blame you.”

“Things are going to get bad,” he said with a sigh.

She nodded but didn't say anything for a long moment. “How d'you feel about it?”

“I'm not really sure.” Taking a deep breath, he let it out in a heavy sigh. “I'm happy they're okay, but... I'm more angry than anything. He hugged me. As if it hadn't been so long, he just hugged me. I...” Closing his eyes tightly, he frowned darkly. “I wanted to hit him... I almost did.”

“Oh George,” she breathed, not as chastising as it could be.

“I don't know whether I want them to leave or stay,” he admitted softly, an unexpected tightening of his chest left him feeling the old hurt that he thought he'd gotten over so long ago. “Sometimes I really hate them for what they did to us.”

“I... I'm not sure what to say,” she told him apologetically.

He nodded understandingly, rubbing his hand over the small of her back. “S'okay. I'm not even sure what to feel.” He chuckled humorlessly, wishing he'd had the courage to go and see Hermione or at least his brother. Alicia held him a little tighter and he found her embrace grounded him some, batting away the overpowering confusion of all the emotion that was clouding his mind. They were in for a whirlwind of drama and he only hoped the family was strong enough to get through whatever came. He knew though, that whatever Fred and Hermione decided on the matter, he would support them. That was just the way of things now.

Some distant part of him was worried though; despite Hermione's reigning anger toward Ron and Harry, they had been her best friends first. She had battled next to them for seven long years and held them up through good and bad. That had to say something about their bond. With their arrival back, would she regain her place in the Golden Trio, or stay with the pranksters she'd come to love? It wasn't as if she could leave her husband and she wouldn't, no matter what happened in their lives. But the friendship formed between her, Fred, and George, may not rival that of hers with Ron and Harry. Ten years of fun and an easy journey in life didn't quite compare to battling hardships and winning against adversity, did it? The unease settled in his stomach and he hoped, though he knew it was selfish, that Hermione wouldn't falter or question her place with him and Fred. It was where she was supposed to be, no matter who came back into their lives. It was Fred, George, and Hermione; a new breed of trio; one that wouldn't leave each other behind for anything. Right?

-o-o-o-o-o-

“Er... That wasn't how I was expecting him to act,” Ron said, breaking the silence. “Fact, I thought the twins would be the least angry with us.”

Ginny stared at him a moment, her eyes moving to their mother's anguished face. “Well, I'd say they were the most angry with you, actually.”

Ron looked shocked, Harry looked confused, Molly looked as though she were sadly agreeing.

“B-But why?” Ron wondered, shaking his head. “Ginny, you I can understand. Mum and dad, I definitely get. Hell, even Bill, I know, would be right pissed. But Fred and George, they're... Well they take everything in stride, really. Figured they'd throw us a welcome back party or something, not... well, what he did.”

“George is nothing compared to how Fred's going to react,” Molly muttered, suddenly looking quite stricken. Her eyes widened. “D'you think he's gone to tell them. Oh... Oh my...”

“He'd never keep something this big to himself. Not from them,” Ginny replied, frowning.

“Er, would you care to enlighten us?” Ron asked, annoyed.

Molly and Ginny exchanged glances.

“Maybe we should all sit down and talk,” Harry suggested, rubbing the back of his neck. “There's a lot of catching up needing to be done. Questions needing answers...” he trailed off nervously.

Molly nodded jerkily. “Yes, yes. Come on in, boys,” she said, ushering them through the door and toward the living room. “Excuse the mess, Ginny and I were going through the wedding albums.”

“Albums? I thought Ginny's was the first since Bill's,” Ron mentioned, slumping down into an armchair.

“Oh heavens no,” Molly replied, shaking her head. “No, all of your brothers are married. Well, except Charlie, but he and Mariella are engaged for next year.” She looked positively delighted.

“All of them?” Harry asked, his eyes wide.

“It has been ten years,” Ginny reminded, her tone soft, but her expression sad.

Molly nodded, her expression fond. “Yes, Fred was the first after Bill, then Percy and Penelope, then George and Alicia, finally Charlie asked Mariella and Neville proposed to Ginny at Christmas,” she told them, nodding happily. “Beautiful weddings, all of them.”

“Alicia Spinnet?” Harry asked, his brows raised high.

“Yes, well Weasley for the last six years,” she told him, grinning. “They have twin boys, as well. Connor and Eli. Five years old.”

“Kids too,” Ron said, his eyes wide and a dazed expression crossing his face.

“Of course! I have seven wonderful grandchildren to dote on!” his mum exclaimed delightedly. “Bill and Fleur have two girls. Aubrey is eight and Talia is nearly six. They should be coming by tonight actually, so you'll get to see them.”

“What about the other three?” Harry wondered, lifting a brow. “Percy's or Fred's?”

“Oh Percy and Penelope don't have any children,” Molly said tutting. “They've decided they want to wait a little while longer for their careers to settle down some. I told them they better hurry up or they won't have any time, but they're dawdling anyway.” She rolled her eyes, huffing. Thinning her eyes suddenly, she frowned at them. “Neither of you have any children I don't know about, do you? Don't tell me you've been hiding my grandbabies away from me.”

Reddening, Harry and Ron looked at each other before shaking their heads quickly. “No, no mum, no kids,” Ron assured, waving his hands in the air.

“Our girlfriends came with us though,” Harry added, squirming in his seat.

“Girlfriends,” Molly reiterated, eyes widening. “You didn't bring them here then?”

“We thought we'd take the brunt of it first and then bring 'em along,” Ron said honestly, shrugging.

Ginny snorted. “Didn't want them to see your two get your arses handed to you, yeah?”

Snickering, they shrugged their shoulders rather agreeably.

“So,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “Er, the other three are Fred's then?”

“Mm,” Molly said, her eyes turned away for a moment. “Yes. Two boys and a girl,” he told them, smiling fondly. “Austin's the oldest, he's seven, he's just like his dad but he'll pick his mum over everyone. Then again, Fred would pick her over just about anyone too.” A shadow crossed her face for a moment and she appeared almost sad as she looked over to Ron and Harry. She brightened a moment later however, taking up her cheerful tone once more, “Then there's Brody, he's five, shy little one that one. Looks just like his mum but he's a daddy's boy entirely. Last there's Aiden, she's just three. Itty bitty thing, but she loves to be cuddled and doted on.”

“Loves her sweets too,” Ginny added, nodding. “I swear, if you have a lolly or anything on you, she knows and she'll find it. Then she'll pull her innocent adorable act on you so you won't be mad when you see she's eating it,” she warned happily.

“I imagine you'll be meeting them soon too,” Molly told them, her eyes evading theirs once more. “They love their aunty Ginny,” she said brightly.

“Besides George, I'm their favorite,” she boasted proudly. “I always have sweets for Aiden, a book for Brody, and a new prank to play with Austin. He's a mischievous one, so I'd watch out. His mum usually catches him before he does anything too upsetting. She does sometimes let him go through with it though.” She shook her head, chuckling to herself. “She's pulled some big pranks in the past.”

“Yes, you remember that time when her, George, and Fred... with the toilet seat...” Molly tisked. “Poor Bill.”

Ginny laughed uproariously, shaking her head. “Oh that one was priceless.”

“That was before she and Fred got together though,” Molly reminded, smiling lightly. “Quite the trio they were.”

“Still are,” Ginny said, nodding. They both seemed to be deep in thought while Ron and Harry watched on in confusion.

“Er, who're we talking about exactly? Fred and George let a girl into their inner twindom? Thought that was impossible,” Ron said, snorting incredulously.

“More than just let her in. They were inseparable. She moved in with them, became a part of them really. Where they were, she was, and vice versa. Finished each others sentences, pulled pranks with each other, anticipated one another's every move, completely fit together. It was no surprise really when she and Fred fell in love.” Ginny shook her head, her fiery red hair falling around her shoulders. “I was a little skeptical at first, but really... There's no one else for Fred.”

“Who is this bird?” Ron asked, lifting a brow. “I've never known anyone who could turn Fred's head for long. Him and George were the ultimate bachelors. He would'a only been twenty, twenty-one when he got hitched!” he said incredulously.

“About that, yeah,” Molly agreed, smiling. “They were young, yes, but they were happy together. There was no talking him out of it, not that anyone was trying. They dated about a year and a half before they married. Were best mates before they finally got their acts together.” She sighed contently. “Never seen two people more made for each other than them.” She tutted, shaking her head.

“Hey! I think Neville and I are very made for each other!” Ginny told her, frowning.

“Oh of course dear,” her mother soothed. “You know what I mean.”

Rolling her eyes, Ginny turned her attention back to Ron and Harry. “I'm sure George will tell them and they'll pop in sometime soon. They'll want to know for sure you're back.” She winced. “I wouldn't expect the warmest greeting.”

“If this is how they're reacting, I don't even want to think about how Hermione's going to,” Harry said sighing.

Molly and Ginny exchanged a look before their eyes turned off.

“What?” Ron asked, frowning. “What was that? What'd that look mean? There something we should know about Hermione?”

Clearing her throat, Ginny stood up slowly. “Well, you know, it's getting late, so I think I'll just pop on home, show Nev those pictures of those flowers then, eh mum?”

“Oh yes, it's important he agrees. Beautiful, aren't they? I'm sure he'll appreciate them,” she replied, moving to grab the photo album and handing it to her. “Let me know what he thinks, dear? Are you two coming by for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, I was hoping to talk to Bill about one of his girls being the flower girl,” she told her, nodding. “They're still staying with you, aren't they?”

“Of course. I won't have them staying at a Hotel,” she said, looking quite insulted at the mere suggestion. She turned toward Harry and Ron suddenly. “That reminds me. You better go get your girlfriends, you lot are not staying at some Hotel when you could be at home with your family!” She shook her head, looking scandalized. “Bring 'em on over. You two can take Ron's old room and they can sleep in the twins.”

“Mum,” Ron said with a suffering sigh. “Separate rooms, really?”

“Until you're married, Ronald Weasley, you will not be having girls in your bed in my house!” she told him, glaring.

Snickering, Ginny shook her head in amusement. Leaning over, she hugged Harry tightly and then embraced Ron. “I'll see you both tonight. Try not to wander off, yeah?” she teased, though her eyes were rather worried.

“We'll be here,” Harry promised.

Nodding, Ginny left toward the fireplace and with bright green flames and smoke, she was gone.

“So tell me, what are their names? How old are they? Where'd you meet them? Are they witches?” Molly rambled excitedly.

“Er, name's Julie, couple years younger than me, and yeah she's a witch. She was visiting to take care of her grandmum and we ran into each other. She decided to stay after her grandmum got better, been together since,” Ron replied, scratching his chin.

“And you, Harry?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh, uh, her name's Lacey. Met her when she dropped by the shop looking for a broom. She's the same age as me, Canadian witch... She's really looking forward to meeting you,” he offered, half-smiling. “Been together a few years now.”

“The shop?” Molly queried, her brows knitting.

“Oh, uh, we own a Quidditch shop,” Ron told her, nodding. “Yeah, Quality Quidditch. Real big hit; gets a lot of customers. We also teach the little'uns to fly.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Your own a shop,” she exclaimed proudly.

The boys nodded, grinning to themselves.

“Well, I think you two should go pick up these nice lady friends of yours and bring them by. Have you eaten lunch yet? You must be starving. Why, you're nothing but skin and bones the both of you,” she said, tutting.

Looking down at themselves, Ron and Harry frowned. They were most definitely not skin and bones. In fact, Ron had probably never been skin and bones in his life. If it wasn't his own appetite keeping him fit, it was his mum's cooking and then Julie's. They had no reason to ever fear him dying of starvation, that was a fact. And Julie kept Harry well stocked on food too, even when he didn't need it. Still, it was Molly's way, and they happily followed her to the kitchen. After agreeing to go pick up their girlfriends, they watched her move toward the stove.

“Familiar, yeah?” Ron asked as they moved to leave.

Sighing happily, Harry nodded. “Nice to be home.”

“Too bad it won't last,” he replied, frowning.

“Yeah, seems the twins aren't too pleased.” Harry frowned. “Think they'll prank us bad?”

“Real bad,” Ron admitted, nodding as he winced sourly. He sighed. “Guess we deserve it.”

Harry sighed. “No doubt we do... I hope it doesn't involve the toilet seat though,” he said shuddering.

Grimacing, Ron nodded agreeably. “I'm not sure I even want to know what happened there.”

“Me either.”

“It might not all be as bad as we think,” Ron said hopefully. “Maybe Fred and George will pop in for dinner and forgive us, so happy to have us back that they just welcome us with open arms.”

“Yeah, that's what they'll do. And then they'll jump out of the way because they've strapped their exploding prank to our backs,” Harry said morosely.

“Way to think positive, Potter,” Ron muttered, chuckling.

“Only being realistic,” he replied sourly.

“I highly doubt it'll explode. There will be children there. They wouldn't risk their own kin,” he assured, shrugging.

“They're brilliant enough to have put some kind of shield on their kids and the people they like, leaving us to deal with the explosion,” he counteracted, shaking his head.

“When did you get so paranoid?” Ron wondered.

Harry sighed. “I dunno. I think it has something to do with Britain. I come back and suddenly it's like everyone's out for my blood.”

“Not everyone. Just the twins,” he told him, grinning.

“Right, because those aren't two of the worst people to have after me?” he mumbled incredulously.

“Mum wouldn't let them kill us, she just got us back!”

“See that's the thing. Your mum would just think we'd left again...” Harry's eyes thinned and he looked around suspiciously.

“Seriously, Harry, I'm not sure you got enough sleep last night,” Ron said, taking out his wand to apparate away.

The pop made Harry jump nervously, before he flushed in embarrassment and followed after his best mate to pick up his girlfriend. He dearly hoped whatever payback the twins had in store, it wouldn't be anything too horrendous. He was fairly sure his prayer fell on deaf ears.

A/N Finally, I get to update! My sister was able to send me this and a few of my other chapters to this story. I hope you enjoyed this! I was quite surprised to see just how many people enjoyed this story. And I know that many of you were very worried that I'd never update and it had been abandoned. But I can assure you that isn't true.

Much Love,
-Amanda

Theo Says - T - Theo/Hermione - OneShot - Complete!

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 08:10:04 GMT

Title: Theo Says
Author: atruwriter
Words: 6,109
Genre: Romance/Drama
Relationship: Theodore/Hermione
Music: We Belong Together – Mariah Carey
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Summary: He was known as a man of few words, but he couldn’t keep quiet this time.

Giant thanks goes to Danielle for being the greatest beta alive!

Banner made by: horizonblvd of The Dark Arts

Made by: Tarafina

Theo Says
by: atruwriter

1/1

Theodore Nott sat anxiously in his bedroom, bare of the majority of his clothes, save for a pair of boxers and one very unfortunate looking sock. Today was the day. The sad, dismal, utterly unforgiving day that she would marry someone who was not him. Two months ago he’d made a fatal mistake and now she was walking up the aisle to marry a giant git of a man even more unworthy of her than him. He ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair back, uncaring of the likely awful mess he’d just made. He took another swig of his nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey, wincing at it burned down his throat and stared gloomily out his bedroom window. The day was far too bright to suit his mood. He felt like crawling in a hole and simply withering away. But then, a wedding was being thrown somewhere and they likely thought the weather was perfect.

He rubbed at the furrow of his brow; it was beginning to ache. He’d been awake all night, wondering what he was thinking eight weeks prior. If he hadn’t been so stupid, he’d be the one standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for her to meet him, marry him. But he wasn’t. Because he was… him. A man raised not to show emotion, weakness, love. He sighed, eyes closing tight as he remembered the fateful night for the millionth time.

Two years she’d been with him. Two years she’d put up with the lack of “I love you’s” in return. He a Slytherin and she a Gryffindor, it was a sour match to begin with, but somehow they made it work. Her friends weren’t entirely happy with her choice in boyfriend, but as long as she stuck with him, he could care less what Potter and Weasley thought. They met at a Ministry thrown benefit where he was adamantly avoiding the crowd by standing in dim areas drinking his glass of champagne while she was politely answering all questions thrown her way and stopping to talk to the many different employees vying for her attention. When she finally got a breather, she escaped and found herself standing next to him. She struck up a conversation, quickly finding out he wasn’t much of a talker, but somehow that only spurred her to try harder. Anybody else and Theo would’ve simply walked away, but she was rather amusing when she got huffy over the fact that she wasn’t getting the reaction she was used to. Eventually he gave in and started talking to her. It wasn’t until she begged him to dance with her so she wouldn’t have to put up with another conversation with a man quite similar to Slughorn that he found his interest in her was a little more than just in amusement.

Her robes were soft beneath his hands and while her hair was a crazy mess of curls, it was oddly soft too. She wasn’t the most attractive woman he’d ever met, but there was something about her. She wasn’t brainless, but quite intelligent (almost overly so). She was very comfortable, something he was sure she picked up from being around so many males in her life. And while she was surprised he was a Slytherin, she didn’t hold it against him. She proudly stated she was a Gryffindor and then the topic was dropped. They ended up spending the rest of the night dancing, with her doing most of the talking, and by the end of the benefit, he was actually smiling, a rare thing in itself. She asked him out for lunch the next afternoon and he accepted, although he thought she was just striking up a friendship with him. Lunch came and went, along with various other dinners, and then it wasn’t so friendly. He found himself reaching for her hand and she had a tendency for touching his arm when she wanted his attention, rather than just calling his name. There were hundreds of small intimate brushes of hands and fingers that told them both they wanted more and one night things just progressed. Progressed into a two year relationship that he ruined.

He didn’t say “I love you,” to her. Not once. He’d grown up in a family that didn’t say it to him and made sure he knew that it wasn’t accepted to say such things. He’d learned early not to talk much at all. He was naturally known as a quiet guy. He didn’t say things unless he felt like they needed to be said. She was a chatterbox, however. But she didn’t try and force him to talk more; she just filled in the silence. They had their separate flats, but she spent most of her time at his place. His parents weren’t accepting of the idea that he was dating a muggleborn witch, still spewing their Pureblood supremacy even after the defeat of Voldemort. But he’d long moved out of their house and bought his own flat in Diagon Alley.

Hermione was laid stomach down on his bed, wearing nothing but a sheet around her hips. Theo was propped up on one arm beside her, half-smiling as she dozed next to him. He trailed his hand down her back, watching as gooseflesh spread out before him. Her back rose abruptly and he knew she was waking up. His mouth quirked as he traced random shapes across her skin while she yawned and shifted around at his touch. Her hair was a mess of tangled curls, looking bushier than usual from their late night tumble in the bed. He watched as she stretched out across the bed, her toes reaching for the end and missing by at least a foot; she was really quite short. Her fingers spread out as she turned her arms upward from the pillow and reached toward the ceiling. Her fingers were ink stained and her nails were always filed short. She had small, delicate hands though, which he reached for with one of his own large hands to wrap around hers, fingers threading. He could practically feel her smile as her fingers wound with his.

He shuffled down the bed a little before leaning in and pressing a kiss at the small of her back. He could feel her skin reacting to the warmth of his mouth. He laid small, lingering kisses all along her hips and up her sides, across her shoulders and down her spine. The ends of his hair barely brushed her skin with each stroke of his lips, but she shivered each time. He slid her hair out of the way as he made his way back up to her neck, kissing the back of it while massaging one of her shoulders as she melted into him.

“Theo says,” she murmured, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her.

“Roll over,” he said against her neck, deep and thick with arousal.

She shifted beneath him before turning onto her back, staring up at him through hooded, brown eyes. Her mouth was quirked with a small smirk. “Theo says…” she trailed off, lifting a brow.

Hovering above her, he grinned. “Spread your legs.”

Her legs fell apart slowly, teasingly. He lifted the sheet and slid between her thighs, his stomach pressing against hers. His head ducked, mouth wrapping around the rosy center of her breast. She arched into him, whimpering. One of her hands found his hair, fingers holding tight to the dark brown strands. His hands trailed up and down her sides, thumbs stroking her. One of his hands found her ignored breast and cupped it, thumb drawing circles over her skin. Her body writhed beneath his, holding nothing back in reply to the tremors running through her body.

He kissed his way up her chest, pausing at her throat to suckle, nip and mark her as his own. When his mouth hovered just a hair’s breath from hers, she whispered, “Theo says…”

“Kiss me,” he replied, closing the small space to capture her mouth. She listened well to direction, always had. Her tongue dueled for dominance while her lips slanted and caressed his possessively. Their noses brushed, teeth grazed over lips, tongues tasted every inch. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers digging in to hold him close. Her hips rotated, bringing her warmth up against him.

He groaned into her mouth, nipping her bottom lip. She laughed, low and husky, her eyes opening to stare up at him.

He ran the back of his hand down her cheek before he kissed away from her mouth and down her neck once more, trailing across her shoulder tenderly. His mouth slid down the slope of her arm, stopping to kiss a cluster of freckles near her wrist, when she shocked him into stillness. “Theo loves?”

Nearly their entire relationship they’d been playing their game of “Simon Says,” revamped and she’d never used that one. He knew where it was coming from. Two years they’d been together and she deserved to hear the words he never said. He felt them and he thought she knew but saying them was a whole other deal. Like the idiot he was, he panicked.

He pulled back from her as soon as the shock wore off, sitting up between her legs and running a hand over his stomach. “Food. I’m really, uh, hungry. Are you? I could make something to eat,” he suggested, pointing his thumb back at the door. “Eggs, maybe? Toast? You want sausages? I’m not bad in the kitchen,” he babbled.

Hermione stared up at him with unreadable expression before her head began nodding slowly, but it wasn’t in response to his question. She sat up, her legs leaving his sides and he immediately felt the loss of warmth from it. “Right,” she said quietly before she was getting out of the bed and gathering up her clothes.

He winced. “Mione,” he murmured sorrowfully.

“Don’t bother,” she replied, pulling her knickers on. “You know, I thought maybe all you needed was time. That… That after awhile it would grow on you. That I would grow on you. But I haven’t. I’m just… I’m always just going to be… here… with you… like this. And- And I can’t do it anymore, Theo.” She sighed, lifting a hand to her brow and covering her eyes. “I love you. I have for nearly two years now. I- I want more than just this. I- I want to be loved and… And you can’t love me.”

He felt his chest clench tightly. The words were so close, just caught in his throat. His mouth opened and closed but no words escaped him.

She nodded, pushing her hair behind her shoulders and wiping a few stray tears away.

He cringed. He hated it when she cried. He’d tried so hard to never make it come to that. She was his first and only love. He’d dated before her but they’d never been as important to him as her. He was twenty-five years old and he’d only ever loved once and she was leaving him because she didn’t think he could love her. What kind of rot was that?

She pulled her pants on and began searching for her shirt. “I wasn’t even trying to get you to really say it, you know? All you had to say was- was… You. All you had to say was ‘you.’ I just needed to know if… If you really…” She was breathing thickly as she threw her hair up in a messy ponytail. She hadn’t found her shirt and so she pulled one of his on, her bra lying forgotten somewhere as well. It looked too big on her, practically swamping around her tiny frame. Her hands found her hips and her face became determined. “I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too much.” She stared at him, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“Mione,” he choked out, shaking his head. He cursed his parents in that moment, hoped they knew how they’d ruined their son’s life.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” she said brokenly. “I just… You know why, don’t you?”

He swallowed tightly. “You deserve to be loved,” he replied, his voice sounding hollow as his eyes turned away.

“I do,” she whispered before she was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.

Barely a week later, she accepted Matthew Conner’s invite to lunch and they’d been going together since. Theo knew she didn’t love him and had no doubts that Matthew was nowhere near in love with Hermione. That didn’t stop him from proposing, however. Six weeks and he asks her to marry him and for some reason she actually said yes. The least she could do was find a good man, someone who really would cherish her, and maybe then he wouldn’t feel like he forced her into marrying some philanderer worse than Adrian Pucey at a Quidditch groupie party. Matthew Conner was so far from being the perfect husband type it wasn’t even funny. He was well known for sleeping with every woman with legs and was so obsessed with getting more publicity in his career it was obvious he was only marrying Hermione to make more of a name for himself. Theo was biased, of course, but he gave the guy a chance. When he ran into them in Diagon Alley, he’d been civil.

It was the first time he’d been out since his break up with Hermione a week prior, besides flooing to work. He was only going to get groceries and then it was back home to wallow. Of course, fate was not on his side and as he turned the corner he walked straight into his ex, who just happened to be holding hands with a bloke who was now scowling viciously at him. Apparently, he’d knocked his tea out of his hands and all over him.

“Sorry,” Theo said, admittedly not as apologetic as he could be.

“Do you have any idea how much this coat cost me?” the man bellowed.

Theo simply blinked at him.

The man appraised his attire and lifted a brow. “No. I don’t think you do.”

“Matthew,” Hermione chastised, looking embarrassed.

Sighing, the man turned to her and his expression softened to something quite fake. “Sorry dear.”

Dear? Theo clenched his jaw to keep from showing any visual reaction to the endearment. One week and she was already with somebody else.

“This is Theo,” Hermione said, lifting a hand to introduce him. “Theo this is Matth—“

“Matthew Conner,” he interrupted, lifting a hand for him to shake. “So you’re the ex boyfriend mentioned?”

Theo glanced at the hand and then stuck his own in his pockets. He knew it was childish but he didn’t really care.

Hermione looked uncomfortable. “So… How have you been?” she asked, eyes darting back and forth.

Theo stared at her a moment. She looked just the same, if not less happy; hair still a disarray of bushy curls, still a handful of inches shorter than him, always in a hurry. He almost smiled. “Fine,” he replied stiffly. “You?”

She looked up at him, eyes catching and holding just long enough for him to see that she was still hurting. “Fine,” she replied with a short nod.

“Mione, dear, we should be going,” Matthew said, impatiently.

Theo stiffened. Nobody called her Mione but him. Not even Potter and Weasley.

“Matthew,” Hermione said, her tone rather cold. “Please don’t call me that.”

Matthew looked annoyed that she’d called him out on it. “Hermione,” he said with a hint of mocking, “We really must go.”

She simply nodded. “It was nice seeing you again.”

So polite, he thought. “Goodbye,” he replied quietly.

She stared at him with sad eyes for a moment before she was dragged away by someone who was supposed to love her. He watched her go before turning away; hating that he was the cause of it all. She could’ve been happy, could’ve been with him rather than some arrogant git. But she wasn’t and he’d have to accept that.

Still, Matthew wasn’t right for her. She deserved much better. He’d learned all about the guy after he found out she was dating him. He had at least three other girls on the side while he was dating Hermione and hadn’t stopped dating them after he proposed. They were having a quick wedding, barely any preparation and he knew that it was because they both just wanted it over with. Matthew wanted the fame; Hermione wanted someone to love her. Except he did, he just couldn’t tell her that.

Her friends and family had been writing him since the wedding was set, trying to find out what was going on. They asked him to change her mind, to talk her out of it, to do something and he always wrote back that there was nothing he could do. He’d spent two years trying to say it and failed, nothing was going to change now. Two months he’d been without her and she’d apparently found what she was looking for in Matthew Conner. Didn’t make it hurt any less. He’d spent the last day and a half doing nothing but laying around wallowing in pity. His father would be completely disappointed in him. While the Nott’s didn’t show emotion, they weren’t known for being cowards either.

His father had been a Death Eater and while his beliefs were wrong, he still stood up for them. He couldn’t remember his mom very well; she’d been killed when he was younger. He remembered how she looked when she died. She didn’t scream. Just let the fire consume her. His step-mother had always been a hard woman who didn’t take disappointment well. When he’d had nightmares about his mother, his step- mum’s way of dealing with them was to tell him to stop being such a baby and go back to sleep. She’d ranted for nearly an hour about his disgrace on the family for even looking at Hermione and he’d let her. But in the end, he stayed with Hermione and he ignored the family that scorned him for it.

Opening his eyes, Theo looked to the side to check the time. Nearly noon. She’d be walking up the aisle by now, dressed in white and holding a bouquet of flowers. Probably daffodils, they were her favorite. His jaw clenched and he threw his bottle at the clock, delighted at the sound of it crashing and breaking. He couldn’t believe everything had changed so much in just two months. He’d had it all and he just… He lost it. In one unforgiving second where he had a choice to make, he’d made the wrong one. He should’ve chosen her but he didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t thought she’d turn around and leave him; that she’d just forgive him that moment just one more time. But she didn’t and she shouldn’t have to.

She’d told him she loved him when she felt it; whispered it to him as they lay exhausted in bed together. Kissed it into his skin, put it in his hand every time she took his. She made sure he knew that she felt it when he was happy or sad; when they were fighting, when they weren’t. He never doubted her feelings for him. She didn’t even have to say it; he could just feel it from her. When she hugged him or smiled at him or simply looked at him. It was there. That day when she was with Matthew, he saw it then too; in her eyes, still so sad and lost. He just assumed that she could see it and feel it too. Despite the lack of words, it was there. In every touch from him to her, every caress of his lips and every quirk of his mouth. He only smiled for her. He’d been a loner who didn’t need anyone else until she stepped into his dim corner and made him see that he could have at least one other person and happily have only her for the rest of his life.

He had a headache. From thinking or drinking, he wasn’t sure. Maybe just missing her. Everything felt so much emptier now. He hadn’t realized how lonely his life was until she wasn’t in it. He’d never really needed anybody else. He’d stayed out of the Slytherin gangs in Hogwarts and as he grew up he didn’t go looking for friends. He kept to himself mostly and he never really felt like he was lonely. He’d been used to the lack of people around. But then she was there all the time and he learned to like how she filled the silences with her brilliant speculations and whatever she was reading. He grew to like having her in his home; cooking in his kitchen, showering in his bathroom, reading in his living room, and sleeping in his bed. But now that she wasn’t there, it seemed like everything was quiet and lonely and it was driving him mental.

Was this what his life was going to be like now? Quiet and lonely for the rest of his days? The thought was jarring.

He sat up and moved to the side of his bed. He couldn’t do this; couldn’t be this guy. He wanted her back. Needed her back. Her voice in his ear when he was trying to sleep and her body sleeping next to his when he wanted her to be awake. He wanted her hand in his when he walked through Diagon Alley and her head on his shoulder as she read.

It happened in a blur. He found a pair of pants, that he didn’t think were quite clean, and drug them on. He found a shirt, yanked it on and then searched for his shoes, only finding one, which was unfortunately for the foot without the sock. He found his wand on the bedside table, next to a picture of the two of them that he hadn’t had the courage to turn over. She looked so pretty, so free, sitting in his lap, her head thrown back on his shoulder, smiling warmly at him. His arms were wrapped around her waist and his head was turned toward her. There was a small smile on his lips; the one that just couldn’t be hidden when he was around her. She made him feel in ways that he’d never thought he would.

He apparated out of his flat with a loud pop and appeared at the bottom of the stairs leading to the church. He ran up them, ignoring the way his socked foot seemed to find every rock in the vicinity. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, could feel the blood rushing through him. His legs burned with a lack of use as he rushed up the stairs and threw the doors open. He ignored the voice calling for him to stop and explain himself. It was awkward running with only one shoe, but he kept going. His lungs were burning and a fear that he was too late was at his heels. He could see the tall double doors leading to the wedding ahead. There was a board announcing the nuptials to the left that he glared at as he rushed by and accidentally kicked over. He came to a stumbling halt at the doors and yanked them open, screaming at the top of his lungs, “STOP!”

Everybody in the room turned to him and for a moment he considered turning around and running away. He wasn’t used to attention and this was more than a little unnerving. But then he saw her, standing at the front, dressed in a vision of white. He knew he looked a mess, but he walked forward anyway. The door closed behind him with a loud bang. The room was packed with people; the Weasleys and Potter up front, next to her parents. All of which were staring at him like he’d just shown up with a cure for some bizarre illness. He took a deep breath, feeling like everybody was waiting for him to say something inspirational and he had no idea what the hell he was doing.

“This is a private wedding,” Matthew shouted, sounding perturbed. “Will somebody please escort him out?”

Mrs. Weasley shushed him, waving a hand at him to shut up.

Theo might’ve laughed if it were any other situation.

“Well, say something boy,” somebody from the crowd called out.

Hermione’s hands dropped from holding Matthew’s and she turned to look at him. “Theo, what are you doing here?”

He felt his heart thudding heavily in his chest, ready to explode. “Don’t marry him,” he choked out.

“Theo,” she said quietly, shaking her head slightly, her brow furrowed.

He started walking toward her, well aware that he was slightly tilted because of his lack of shoe. “I know. I messed up. Two years and I… I should’ve said it.” He felt those same three words clog in his throat once more. “And you deserve to be loved. You deserve all of it. The wedding and the family and... and forever.” He sighed, his jaw clenching. “But you don’t deserve him. He… He doesn’t love you. If it was somebody else, somebody who could really love you and cherish you like you deserve then I wouldn’t be here because… Because I want that for you. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” she said, her voice shaking.

“You’re not,” he said, shaking his head abruptly. “I know how you look when you’re happy, Mione.” He lifted a hand, running it through his hair nervously. He was so close now he could almost reach out for her. He knew everybody was watching and he hated that something so private was being heard by so many, but it couldn’t wait. “When you’re happy your cheeks are flushed and your hair frizzes up even more, I swear. And your eyes turn a darker brown.” His feet brought him just a few inches away from her and his hand rose to cup her cheek. “And you laugh more, at things that aren’t even funny, because you’re just so… content.”

She shook her head slightly, her eyes filling with tears. She sniffled, trying to stiffen her posture. “You can’t just show up on my wedding day and tell me that I’m making a mistake, Theo. It doesn’t work that way.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength. “Tell me you love him and I will walk away,” he managed.

She bit her lip, staring at him with teary eyes. “I... I love… I love hi…” She closed her eyes tight, shaking her head. “Don’t do this to me, please.”

“I’m not doing it to you, I’m doing it for you,” he replied, his thumb brushing away a tear. “Pick me. Marry me.”

Her eyes opened, wide and shocked. “Theodore Nott, do you know what you’re asking?”

He smiled at her tone. “I’m asking you to walk away from a pompous arse and marry me instead.”

She stared at him a moment, searchingly, before she shook her head decisively. “I told you, I can’t… Not anymore.” Her hand lifted, wrapping around his wrist and dragging his hand down from her cheek.

He licked his lips and turned his hand to take hers. “Ask me again,” he told her, swallowing tightly.

“Theo…” she trailed off, looking afraid.

She didn’t want to be rejected again and his heart clenched with the fact that he made her feel that. “Ask me again,” he repeated, staring at her seriously.

She sniffled, her jaw quaking as she looked around, tears slipping from her eyes.

“Hermione?” Matthew called out impatiently.

She turned to her fiancé, her expression one of apology. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“You can’t be serious?” he asked, sounding disgusted. “For Merlin’s sake, Hermione. His shirt is inside out, he’s only wearing one shoe and I don’t think he’s bathed today!”

Theo scowled. “I was a little distracted!”

“Trying to steal my wife, yes I noticed!” Matthew yelled back.

“Last I checked, she didn’t say I do,” Theo replied, tone level. He paused, glancing at her. “You didn’t, did you?”

She chuckled through her tears before shaking her head.

Theo let out a breath of relief and then glared at Matthew.

“Hermione, this is ridiculous. What can he possibly offer you that I can’t?” Matthew wondered superiorly.

Her eyes fell for a moment before she turned back to Theo and took a deep breath. “Theo loves?”

Theo felt that familiar clog of words in his throat and swallowed. “You,” he forced out, past the fear. A weight fell from his shoulders and he smiled. “I love you.”

Twin tears fell down Hermione’s cheeks as she grinned widely, her eyes falling shut and a breath escaping her. “I love you, too.”

Theo tugged on her hand and leaned forward, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. After two months, it felt like coming home. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck while his looped around her waist, pulling her forward until she was lifted from the ground and held up against his chest. He could hear clapping in the background which he assumed were the Weasley’s and her friends and family. While they might not have liked him, they obviously liked Matthew even less. He was running out of air quickly but he ignored it to keep kissing her. She was warm and sweet and there was something so comforting about having her again. That void that had consumed him since she left was filled once more. The quiet was no longer silent. The cold that followed him was now warm.

He set her back down on her feet and sucked in air to fill his burning lungs. He wiped her cheeks free of tears as she smiled up at him. “Took you long enough,” she murmured.

He laughed, nodding.

She took his hand and lifted up the bottom of her dress, nodding toward the door. “I really want to get out of this.”

Smirking, he glanced back at Matthew before beginning to run down the aisle with her.

“Hermione Granger, you’re making a huge mistake!” Matthew Conner shouted after her.

Laughing, she glanced back. “Actually, I’m rectifying one, you pompous arse!”

As they ran out the front and down the steps, Theo side-along apparated them back to his flat, where they fell back onto his bed. He barely paid attention to her fingers at his shirt, trying to figure out what to do with it being inside out. He helped her sit up and his fingers, though shaking, undid the buttons at the back of her dress, drawing it down her shoulders until it pooled around her hips. “When we get married, I vote you wear far less fabric,” he told her quietly, kissing the curve of her neck.

Her hands stilled on his shirt. “You meant it then?”

He lifted his head, nuzzling her nose with his. “Every word.”

She bit her lip, staring into his eyes for a moment. “Theo says?”

“Marry me?” he asked, softly.

She smiled. “Of course.”

Grinning, he leaned her back on the bed, pushing the rest of her dress down her thighs to lie on the floor, forgotten. His mouth slanted over hers, tongues tangling. She rolled them over, the warmth of her skin meeting his as his shirt parted. Her lace encased breasts brushed against his chest while the heat of her thighs pressed against his sides as she wrapped her legs around him. Her hands found his, fingers entwining against the bedspread.

“Have you missed me?” she asked, nipping his bottom lip playfully.

“Never,” he replied, tipping his head to kiss her deeply.

She moaned lightly before dragging her mouth away. “Liar.”

He grinned, turning them over once more so she was laid out beneath him, her thick hair sprawled across the blanket. “Must be the Slytherin in me.”

She lifted a brow before rotating her hips. “Well I want the Slytherin in me,” she implied, smirking. “Two months, Theo? I’m disappointed. I had you pegged for far less.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She kissed his chin. “You better.”

His hands trailed down from hers and slid beneath her back, flicking the clasp of her bra open. “Have I ever disappointed before?” he asked, kissing down her chest slow and teasing.

“No,” she breathed, eyes fluttering as his lips caressed her skin.

“You want to play a game?” he asked her, kissing down the valley of her breasts and across the expanse of her ribs to her navel.

“What kind of game?” she whispered, her hands sliding through his hair.

“A twist on Simon Says,” he told her, nuzzling her stomach with his nose.

Her thighs squeezed his sides. “How long does it last?”

He lifted his head, his mouth quirking on one side. “Forever, give or take a lifetime.”

“What are the rules?”

He lifted up to his knees and hovered above her, mouth just a few inches from hers. “Most of the time, we make them up as we go along. But one can’t be broken.”

“What’s that?” she queried softly, teeth pressing into her bottom lip.

He pushed a tendril of her hair from her face, fingers tracing the soft curve of her cheek. “There’s only one answer to ‘Theo loves?’”

“And it is?”

“You,” he breathed.

He kissed her, hard and deep, whispering that he loved her with every caress of his lips, and he never stopped. Not a year later when they were married in the backyard of the Burrow. Not two years later when their daughter Cherish Nott was born. Not a year and a half after when their twins Holli and Natalie greeted the world. Or when three years after them, they finally had their son Reese to complete their family. Not three and a half years later when they celebrated their tenth anniversary or fifteen years after that for their twenty fifth anniversary. He never stopped when their kids went to Hogwarts, graduated, married, and had children of their own. Not when their fiftieth anniversary came and went. Not when their grandchildren went to Hogwarts or when another Wizarding war began. When a witch strong enough to rival Voldemort rose and threatened their world with annihilation. Older and far less able on the battle field, they still stood side-by-side against adversity. He simply never stopped.

And when she was 163 years old, she laid down in their bed beside him and took his hand like she always did. As the sun dimmed outside their home of over 130 years, she turned and smiled at him. Her face had far more wrinkles now but her smile was the same and her eyes were that dark shade of brown that told him she’d been happy all these years. And she asked him, in her voice that he’d long fell in love with for filling the silences of his life, “Theo loves?”

“You,” he replied, just as he always had.

And she nodded as if she’d never doubted it. “Theo says?”

“It’s okay to sleep now, Mione,” he replied, holding tight to her soft, delicate hand in his own. He swallowed tightly. It was time, of course. He’d known all week.

“Will you go to sleep with me, Theo?” she wondered quietly, tiredly.

“Of course, love.”

She nodded, again as if she knew what his answer would be and didn’t really need for him to say it.

And she turned on her side, taking his hand with her and he slid up behind her, his arms wrapping around her lightly. She sighed contently and he smiled against her shoulder; that same smile that she always got out of him without even trying. And they fell asleep, never to wake again. Mr. and Mrs. Nott, a couple who made it through two different wars, the adversity of blood purity, various ups and downs with their children, and, of course, a moment where they nearly lost one another at the tender age of twenty-five. But they stuck through it together and they never let go. Theo’s smile didn’t die through the night, but instead stuck close to him as he held his dear wife until her last breath was taken and expelled his own. They played their game until the very end, never once breaking the only rule.

End

A/N Hope you like this! My sister is trying to send me the next chapter to "While You Were Gone," so fingers crossed that will work. This is my first Theo/Hermione, the plot just sort of came to me and it all just fell in place. I was originally working on a Marcus/Hermione, so that's likely the next oneshot coming out.

Thanks for reading! Please review; it's greatly appreciated!
Much Love,
-Amanda