Day by Day

Author's Note Well, there's just no stopping Harry and Hermione, is there? I was going to wait a few more days but they just wouldn't let me, no matter how many times I tried to re-write this chapter! Then again, everything is not always as it seems, is it...

Sorry, but I've had to upgrade the rating to R for this chapter.

DAY BY DAY

By Lady Jane

Chapter Five: "The One Where Harry & Dean Cook Dinner, Ginny Gets A Visitor, Etc"

Tuesday

Harry Cooks Dinner

Harry had fallen into the habit of cooking dinner for himself and Hermione since he was at home and had more time. At least, that's what he told her as he didn't have the heart to say to her that there were two things she would probably never be any good at: flying and cooking. He'd sampled the results of her cooking talents a number of times and while they were edible, they certainly weren't great!

Hermione for her part loved the luxury of arriving home from work and being able to sit in the kitchen chatting to Harry while he prepared dinner. She'd also discovered that there were many opportunities for watching him unnoticed while he worked.

This night, as usual, she was sitting on a stool up at the bench while Harry stood on the other side opposite her, chopping a couple of onions. He was telling Hermione an amusing story about one of his favourite students during his time at Hogwarts and she was leaning her chin on her hand, her elbow resting on the bench, looking at Harry as he talked. Because he was watching what he was doing, he didn't see the look in her eyes as she gazed at him.

She could feel herself being lulled by the sound of his voice until she was no longer really hearing the words, instead, she found herself thinking about how much she was looking forward to Harry's goodnight hug and kiss later. She loved the feeling of being in his arms, of being able to wrap her arms around him... she was so busy enjoying her little daydream, imagining that if she turned her head at just the right moment his lips would meet hers, instead of landing softly on her cheek, and how it would feel if she opened her mouth to him and...

'Hermione?'

Hermione, horrified, realised she was now staring directly into Harry's green eyes which were gazing intently back at her, taking in her expression...

Shit! Had she given anything away? Surely not, not with just a look...

Sitting up quickly and dropping her eyes, Hermione could feel the colour steal up her cheeks.

'Sorry, I was off with the fairies - just some, um, you know - a little - stuff at work, really,' she finished weakly, groaning inwardly. Jesus Hermione! You idiot! Sitting there drooling over him like some sixteen year old totally smitten nitwit!

She heard Harry walk over to the stove and scrape the chopped onions into a pan, sizzling as they hit the heated oil. He put the utensils in the sink and washed his hands, drying them on a teatowel as he walked back to the bench.

'Right! That's done. Would you like a glass of red wine?' Dammit! Look at me Hermione! I want to know I wasn't imagining what I just saw in your eyes...

Hermione nodded, unable to find her voice, staring at the benchtop because she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. But if I don't look at him he's going to wonder - he'll think there's something wrong...

Harry decided enough was enough and walked back to remove the pan from the stove so the onions wouldn't burn, then he walked around the end of the bench to stand beside Hermione, putting his hand on her shoulder.

'Are you all right?' he asked gently, feeling more certain now that he hadn't imagined anything because Hermione was obviously too embarrassed to look at him.

Hermione nodded again, her eyes not leaving the benchtop. No, I'm not all right! she screamed silently to herself, but there's a chance I won't make a total idiot of myself right here and now if you would just get back on your side of the bench!

But Harry wasn't moving. Instead, his other hand came up under Hermione's chin, lifting it gently so that he could see into her eyes.

'Please don't lie to me,' he told her softly.

Hermione closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to look at him because she had to lie to him. She couldn't separate all the different feelings swirling within her like a kaleidoscope caused by Harry's touch and nearness and concern and her own feelings of being silly enough to be caught gaping at him. What must he think? A little white lie was a far better option than telling him the truth, or so she thought. It was all too much. Two tears trickled slowly down her cheeks and Harry, his hands now framing her face, wiped them away with his thumbs. Then he pulled her up and drew her into his arms. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, feeling so safe and comforted she couldn't help but cry some more, feeling an unnamed tension drain from her as Harry simply held her, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

Dean Cooks Dinner

Ginny gathered up the reports she was trying to cram before her interview with Malfoy, deciding she'd take them home. At least she could get something to eat and sit comfortably in her own place while she read. She headed to reception where there were a number of fireplaces to Floo home. At the last minute, she decided to Floo to Dean's place instead. She could explain about having to "work" on Friday night and hopefully persuade him to change their reservation to Saturday night.

As she stepped out of the fireplace into Dean's kitchen, a wonderful smell reached her that reminded her of the beautiful roasts her mother cooked.

Dean looked up from peeling potatoes and immediately dropped everything to relieve Ginny of her rather heavy bag, after which he gathered her in his arms and kissed her. Ginny sighed happily.

'I'm so glad I decided to pop in here first before going home,' she murmured.

'So am I,' he told her, claiming her lips once more.

Ginny pulled away and smilingly reminded him he had yet to finish the potatoes.

Dean laughed and walked back to the bench where he'd been working, asking Ginny what she'd like to drink.

'Is that a glass of red wine you have?' she asked and when Dean nodded, she asked for the same.

As she sipped the soft, mellow wine, Dean explained he was cooking the roast for his mother as it was her birthday and that Ginny was more than welcome to stay. Normally, she would have accepted such an invitation with alacrity as she really enjoyed the company of Dean's parents, but tonight was an exception.

'Actually, honey, I have to say no for the same reason I can't make it this Friday, either. This latest assignment Ida's given me is a real biggie. My bag,' she waved her hand to indicate the heavy bag she'd brought with her, 'is full of reports I have to read by Friday night when the interview is scheduled so I can't afford to do anything else this week, unfortunately.'

Dean spoke before she could say anything further. 'That's okay, sweetheart. I can change it to Saturday night if you still want to go. I take it you can't tell me what this is all about just yet?'

Ginny smiled at him gratefully. He really was the most wonderful man she'd ever met.

'How I wish I could tell you - but it could be big and Ida's panicking in case it leaks out before we've had the chance to interview...this person.'

Dean had finished peeling and cutting the potatoes and pumpkin and tossed them into a roasting pan which he slid it into the oven, after which he basted the meat.

Ginny gave an appreciative moan. 'That smells sooo good! I'd better go before I weaken.' She stood up and walked around to Dean, sliding her hands around his neck and kissing him, deliberately pressing herself against him, loving the feel of him. Dean's hand moved slowly up her back to entangle itself in her long, gleaming, red hair, pushing insistently against her mouth with his tongue. Ginny opened her mouth to him and Dean pulled her even closer with his other hand which was clamped firmly around her waist. It was only the soft whoosh that indicated someone arriving by Floo that made them draw apart, realising it was probably Dean's parents.

After wishing his mum a happy birthday and explaining she would stay except for work, Ginny Flooed home to an empty flat, some heated leftovers and lots of reading.

Harry's Still Cooking Dinner

Harry waited till Hermione stopped crying then gently grasping her upper arms, pulled away, asking softly, 'What was that all about?'

Giving him a rather watery smile, Hermione shrugged and said, 'I think work has got a little on top of me lately, that's all.' She broke away to get a tissue, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. She sat down again as Harry went back to preparing dinner, filling a large pot of boiling water with a couple of large handfuls of fresh spaghetti.

'Can you tell me about it?' he asked, coming to lean on the bench across from her, his green gaze intense. He was watching for an echo of what he'd seen earlier in her eyes, but she would only glance at him for a second or two before looking down at her hands as they fiddled with the tissues she still held.

'Well, probably not, but... well, without being specific, I found out something yesterday that confirmed something I couldn't believe earlier and all of which involves a very close friend of mine and I'm rather worried about what might happen.' Which, she thought, was true - thinking of the memo she'd received at work yesterday and what she now knew Ginny was doing. She'd promised Ginny she'd say nothing, however, until after the interview.

Harry's eyebrows rose, a crooked smile forming as he gave his head a slight shake.

'Well, I'll take your word for it Hermione - but it sounds just like you, worrying about someone!'

Hermione felt enormous relief wash through her at what she saw as Harry's acceptance of her explanation. So enormous, it enabled her to ignore that fact that Harry would have to be blind to have missed the look in her eyes earlier, which of course he hadn't and he knew damn well it had nothing to do with her work. He mightn't know why she got upset or her whether her explanation was true or false - but he knew what he'd seen in her eyes and it was making his heart sing: it was most definitely not the look you give to a friend.

The spaghetti took only minutes to cook and then they were sitting down, a plate of steaming, fragrant food in front of each of them.

Harry lifted his glass in a toast, his voice deep and husky, sending shivers all over Hermione's body, 'Here's to you, Hermione, my best friend, the most wonderful woman and witch I've ever known and ever will know.'

Hermione smiled as she blushed, then found her voice and lifted her own glass, tapping it gently against Harry's.

'And here's to the most amazing friend and wizard in my world.'

'Tuck in while it's hot,' advised Harry, passing her a dish of freshly grated parmesan to spoon over her spaghetti, accidentally-on-purpose touching her hand as he did so, noting the almost inaudible quick intake of her breath and the slight widening of her eyes. He smiled. Oh, Hermione...

They ate, laughing at each other's attempts to eat spaghetti and still look dignified. When they'd finished, Harry stood and without bothering to use his wand, waved his hand, causing dishes and pots and pans to head for the sink and start cleaning themselves. Another, less expansive wave saw the bottle of red wine rise from the table, along with their glasses and as Harry held out his hand to Hermione to bring her to her feet and lead her to the loungeroom, the bottle and glasses followed them, bobbing gently behind, coming to rest with barely a sound on the coffee table as they sat down. Harry turned to face Hermione, his back to the fireplace (which he'd lit as they'd walked in with a flick of his fingers). With a gesture, their glasses floated into their hands and Harry said, 'Another toast!'

Hermione took her glass and smiled at Harry, not knowing why she was feeling happier and more relaxed than she had for weeks, and not caring, simply wallowing in it.

'Another toast?' she asked.

'Something you said the other day - about how it doesn't matter how well you might think you know a person, they can still turn around and surprise you. Well, here's to surprises.'

Their glasses tinkled softly as they touched. 'To surprises,' echoed Hermione, intrigued.

They slowly finished their wine, lazily discussing this and that. As he drained the last of the wine from his glass, Harry stood and held his hand out to Hermione.

This was something Harry always did and she'd become used to it. Yet somehow, now - tonight - that gesture made her heart beat faster, her breathing quicker. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes...

She put her hand in his and as she stood up, she found she couldn't take her eyes from his. He gathered her into his arms for their ritual goodnight hug, but tonight it felt different...

As she wrapped her arms around him, she hugged him tighter than she ever had, even more aware of him than she'd ever been. Wanting him more than she ever had.

Harry buried his face in her hair, loving the feel and the smell of it, steeling himself to resist his natural impulse to run his hands over the beautiful, supple body in his arms, to fight the almost overpowering urge to kiss her. He didn't want to move too suddenly and frighten her. Then as she brought her head up to look at him, her eyes shining, her lips slightly parted, he knew he was entirely in her hands, that she would dictate the next move and he would go where she led.

Ginny's Visitor

Ginny woke with a start, wondering what it was that had caused her to stir. She'd moved to her bedroom after eating earlier, taking some reports with her and had obviously fallen asleep in the middle of reading. She pushed aside the myriad parchments and was about to throw back her duvet when she heard the noise that must have woken her in the first place. Footsteps echoing along the hallway. She froze, her heart pounding. Then she shook her head, feeling ridiculous. It would only be Dean, probably coming to see her after dinner with his mum and dad. She threw back the covers and stood up and because it was Dean, she didn't bother with her dressing gown, walking to the doorway in the soft, satin, silvery green night gown he'd given her last Christmas. The bodice was made entirely of creamy lace, the straps were barely there and it whispered softly as she moved, shimmering over her soft curves.

'Dean?' she called quietly as she reached her doorway, enabling her to see along the hallway and to see the tall figure at the other end. The robed figure froze and so did Ginny's heart and mind. The only thought she was capable of was: It's not Dean.

'Ginevra.' His voice was like an Arctic wind. It froze her blood. Her own voice sounded icy as anger surged through her and she demanded, 'What are you doing here? Get out! Now!'

'Not a particularly polite way to address your date.'

'It's not a date', she almost spat, 'it's an interview. And it's not until Friday night. Now get out!'

She stood in the doorway to her room, braced by an arm against each side of the doorframe, her long red hair in disarray, hanging around her shoulders. Her wand was on her bedside table. She was calculating how quickly she could reach it when she realised he'd been slowly moving and was now almost on top of her; she hadn't noticed in the dark that he'd moved - he hadn't made any noise. As he came within reach, he raised his hands and pushed his hood back, his pale grey eyes boring unblinkingly into hers.

She gasped. She'd expected, what? Ageing? Ugliness? The wear and tear of years in prison? He showed none of that and it made her more afraid. Perhaps he'd learnt skills from Voldemort that prevented the ravages of time and lifestyle showing on his countenance. Then he smiled. It was cold and cruel. Like his father. His eyes raked her from head to foot and back again. She felt a surge of pure hatred galvanise her into action as she raised her hands, clenching them into fists and just as she was about to bring them down and strike him his hands snapped out and grabbed each of her wrists in a vice like grip.

'I had no intention of touching you, Ginevra. I will let you go if you tell me you will not attempt to touch me.'

Incapable of speaking through her mingled rage and terror, she nodded, not knowing why she believed him.

He immediately released her hands, dropping his own to his sides, standing there, waiting to see if she was as good as her word. She stepped back and managed to gasp, 'What the hell do you want, Malfoy? How did you get in here?'

'Perhaps I'll tell you on Friday. During our date. Sorry. During our interview.' His voice dripped with sarcasm and yet he seemed satisfied in some way. 'At least you will look worthy of being my...interviewer.'

She felt her cheeks burn as his eyes raked her body one more time before he turned and walked away. She heard him Apparate a few seconds later, then realised she felt horribly weak in the legs. She barely made it back to her bed, crawling in and curling up. It took her a long while to fall asleep. And she left the bedside lamp burning...

Etc...

As she looked up at Harry, Hermione wondered what he was thinking, his gaze was so intense - and electrifying. She felt as though he was waiting, waiting for her - to do what? She didn't know, but she felt - she felt as though fire was ripping through every part of her body that was in contact with Harry's and in that instant she was reduced to nothing except being aware of wanting. Wanting him. Wanting his touch - his hands. Wanting his kiss... she whispered his name as she slid her hand behind his head, drawing his lips closer to hers as she closed her eyes, wondering if she was dreaming.

Harry felt her small, warm hand on the back of his neck, heard his name, whispered by the voice of the woman he'd wanted so badly for so long it felt like forever, felt the pressure she exerted to close the gap between their lips and for an instant wondered if this was the right thing to do - then he felt her lips beneath his - warm and soft and pliant - he felt them part, felt the velvety softness of her tongue - and nothing else mattered. He felt himself hardening - he could do nothing about it - it was as if she was controlling him. While one arm remained clamped across her waist, holding her against him as tightly as humanly possible without crushing her, the fingers of his other hand entangled themselves in her hair, finding the back of her neck and staying there, ensuring she could escape only when he let her.

The amazing feeling of her whole body pressed against the length of his - the exquisitely firm softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, the feeling of her hard, flat stomach pushing against the almost unbearable hardness of his erection.

Hermione instinctively moved her hips, causing a painfully blissful feeling for Harry; their lips parted slightly, enough to enable them to breathe.

'Harry?' Hermione's voice was a husky, questioning, whisper; her senses were reeling.

Harry couldn't help himself - he dropped, small, quick, soft kisses all over her face - her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead, her temple, her nose, her chin, each side of her mouth, all the while murmuring her name, unable to believe he was really doing this, kissing Hermione, unable to believe she was kissing him back. Then she moaned softly in response to his kisses, arching her body against his and he felt he'd never be capable of coherent thought again.

Then, with a superhuman effort, he pulled back, bringing both his hands to her shoulders, his forehead resting on hers.

'Hermione, we need to talk, we have to talk, before...'

She placed her hands either side of his face, raising it to see his eyes as she ran her tongue over her lips, 'Harry, please, just kiss me again...please...'

Harry pulled himself up straight, pulling her against him and wrapping his arms around her, his face once again buried in her hair. 'Hermione, kissing you is all I want to do right now - well, not all, but,' his voice, roughened with desire and restraint, caused her to squirm against the tightness of his embrace so that she was able to look up at him. He kept his head level, his gaze straight ahead, knowing that if he met her gaze, felt her breath on his face, heard her begging him to kiss her just once more, he'd be lost...

'But?' her voice was soft, and sounded unsure.

'Just think about it for a second - we truly need to talk. At least, I think we do.'

Hermione sighed. 'I guess you're right.'

Harry couldn't help but look down and smile at her as he said, 'I don't hear that very often, now do I?'

Hermione gave a small laugh, feeling the incredible tension ease a little; he felt her relax in his arms and unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief. He knew one thing - he was down to the dregs of his resistance; if Hermione asked him to kiss her once more, he'd be totally and utterly incapable of saying no to her.

She stepped back, looking at him from beneath her lashes. In that second, she made a decision, her thoughts becoming clear; it was simple: To hell with talking!

Harry tensed as Hermione's eyes suddenly dropped, then watched, spellbound, as her hand reached across the small distance between them, her fingers trailing over the bulge in his jeans.

'Hermione...' his voice hardly more than a deep-throated gasp. Christ! What was she doing?! Why?

She brought her eyes up to his mouth, her fingers reaching under his t-shirt to close over the top of his jeans, then she looked into his eyes.

'Harry, you may be right and we should talk, but we could always do that tomorrow because to be honest,' she ran her hand around the band of his jeans, her other hand joining it under his t-shirt, he could feel her hands running up over his firm stomach, up over his chest, 'I'm not really capable of thinking straight at the moment,' those maddening, soft hands - their feather light touch - were on his back, she was pressed up against him once more, 'and thinking is actually not what I want to do now, anymore than talking,' her hips slowly undulated against him and he could feel his reason slipping away, bringing his hands up to frame her face, 'because what I really want,' he felt hypnotised by her soft, seductive tone and her eyes which held him transfixed, filled with desire and lust, 'is for you to take me to bed and make love to me. Now. Please.'

Unable to speak, his answer was to kiss her, thrusting his tongue into her willing mouth. With a sudden movement, he pulled away and bent to pick her up, carrying her to her room, his eyes not leaving hers. He had to have her, or go stark, staring mad. When they reached her room he released her and she stood up, entwining her arms around his neck as his hands roamed along the graceful curves of her back, then down, past the smallness of her waist, down, pulling her hips into his and groaning at the sensations this created.

'Are you sure?' he whispered against her lips, forcing himself to give her the power to pull back or go forward, knowing it was the right thing to do

Hermione, her lips still almost touching his, answered with her own question: 'Harry, do you want me?'

'Can you feel that?' he asked her, his voice a deep, hoarse, whisper as he pushed his painfully hard erection into her. He didn't wait for her answer; he knew she could feel it. 'That's what you do to me - what you've done to me for longer than I can remember. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you, Hermione. And I want you so badly...'

'Then it sounds as though you want me at least half as much as I want you...' and she pushed his arms off her, backing away...

'Hermione!' Harry's voice sounded as though he was in agony, his outstretched arms begging her to return to them.

Still wearing her work clothes, Hermione took a couple of steps backwards, a soft, seductive smile playing about her mouth. Holding Harry's eyes, she slowly pulled her deep-cream coloured silk blouse out of her skirt, undoing the buttons, lastly undoing the cuffs and sliding it off, letting it drop to the floor. She took a step backwards over the cream silk puddle on the floor so that it was in front of her, kicking off her shoes to lie on top of it. She was wearing a deep caramel coloured lacy bra that plunged to reveal an irresistible cleavage. Harry's eyes dropped to take in the long imagined view of Hermione in a bra and he felt as though he was going to explode. He may have just grown harder, although he didn't know how that could be possible.

When she reached around the back to undo her skirt he thought his knees would give way - that simple movement caused her breasts, even held within the confines of her bra, to do eternally watchable things. When her skirt dropped, with Hermione giving it a small kick so that it joined her blouse, he was sure he'd travelled to paradise. She had on a pair of French knickers that matched her bra and as his eyes slid down he saw that she had on a pair of those stay-up stockings. They had lacy tops the same colour as her bra and knickers ensemble and the creamy flesh between those lacy tops and those lacy knickers led his eyes to that small triangle which meant only one thing to him right now...ecstasy...

'Dear God in heaven! Hermione!' He brought his eyes back to hers to find them filled and shining with want and need - for him!

'I want you Harry. I want you in every way you could imagine. I want your hands all over me - your mouth, God how I love your mouth! And I want...' her eyes dropped to the impossibly hard bulge in his jeans. He followed her gaze and groaned, his head dropping back for an instant before he looked at her again, not wanting to take his eyes off her.

Her hand came forward, palm up and open. 'Come to bed with me Harry...'

He brought his own arm forward and stumbled a little, but he took her outstretched hand and she pulled him towards her...

TO BE CONTINUED...