Forever Young

"Herm, could you get that?"

Hermione looked up from her drawer to turn her ear to the door. Someone was knocking. Looking down at herself, she groaned at Ginny, who was in the bathroom down the hall.

"Not exactly," she called. "Could you grab it, please?"

"No, sorry, my hands are soaking." Hermione rolled her eyes. Oh, well, I'm naked, but I'm guessing it's not nearly as bad.

"Just throw a sweater on or something and finish dressing later," Ginny called back, her voice muffled through the bathroom door. "Besides," she added, "it's probably just Draco."

Hermione suppressed a growl. "Just . . . Malfoy," she mumbled irritably. Grabbing the black jumper off her bedpost, she thrust it on over her head, pulled on a pair of shorts and hurried out the room and down the steps to her front door.

Malfoy was wearing black dress pants and a black dress shirt to match. The top three buttons were undone, giving Hermione a few unnecessary inches view of the silver-blonde hair sprinkled lightly over his chest. He had slicked his hair back once again, and his eyes seemed as blue as ever. In his hand was a large, curvy, fluid-shaped bottle of red wine

He was leaning against the doorframe when she opened the door, and before she had a chance to say hi, he said, "Granger," as a greeting, shoved the wine bottle into her arms and brushed past her into her own house. She paused, staring confusedly at the space he'd been standing previously, looked at the bottle in her hands, and then slowly shut the door and turned back around.

"Evening, Malfoy," she said as he made his way to her kitchen, following cautiously behind him.

He grunted and flicked his fingers over his shoulders lightly at her, his usual greeting, and opened her fridge, ducking out of view behind the door. "Got any beer?"

"I . . . don't think I do."

Malfoy looked up, a disbelieving sneer on his face, and he snorted rudely, shutting the fridge. "What kind of person doesn't have beer?"

Hermione felt dumbstruck. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

He sighed in exasperation and said slowly and excruciatingly clearly, "The beer. I'm thirsty. Where do you keep it? Is there a cooler?" He walked out into the dining room and out onto her balcony, searching the walls and under the snack table.

"I don't have any coolers," Hermione said, annoyed. "They invented Cooling Charms for the very same reason."

Malfoy looked over his shoulder and blinked in utter confusion, walking back to check the fridge one more time before opening the freezer, craning his neck in all directions to find the non-existent alcohol. Hermione rolled her eyes for the second time that night. How could anyone be so . . . so obnoxious? Taking three heavy steps towards him, she placed a hand on the freezer door and closed it in front of his face.

"Malfoy. Get over it. There's no beer," she said.

"Why?"

Hermione took a deep, take-control-of-yourself breath and said calmly, "Well, I don't drink the stuff, and I'm the only one here half -- no, all the time. Just because you're here doesn't mean I need to supply specially."

"But I like beer," he said loudly.

"You may like beer," she said even more loudly, "but you didn't bring beer, and it's not my fault."

"So it's my fault?"

"Yes!" she nearly shrieked. "How many different ways can I say it?"

The look on his face at being accused of something was Kodak-worthy. "Granger, it's your party! You invited people here! Usually you supply for your guests at your party."

"But . . . oh hang it, you're not worth it," she snapped. Having been on the verge of saying something about he had never really been considered a guest in her house, she didn't dare give him any reason to insult her.

The severity of his glare left nothing to the imagination of how much he wanted to see her sliced into thousands of tiny pieces. "Bitch," he mumbled.

Her mouth fell open, mortified. "I am not!"

"Sure, Granger. You're acting it right now."

Before she knew what she was doing she had closed the distance and came right up into his face. He was almost a head taller than her but she didn't back down in the least. "Unless you want to all of a sudden experience erectile dysfunction from my knee, I suggest you drop it and go buy yourself some beer!"

"I wouldn't need to if you had done it ahead of time!" he barked, the tip of his nose grazing hers.

"Not for only one person, Malfoy, and especially not for you! No one else acts like you when it comes to my parties."

He crossed his arms over his muscular chest. "Meaning?"

Hermione matched his stance challengingly. "That means, usually, my parties tend to be B.Y.O.B. And that means I'd rather watch you thirst than do something to your convenience, Malfoy!"

She spat the words out viciously at him. She couldn't believe she was standing toe-to-toe with Draco Malfoy arguing nastily about . . . beer. He was about to say something equally as snide, when Ginny came downstairs. They both stopped abruptly, jumping about a yard from each other, and Hermione turned around to face her friend, swallowing whatever she was about to say to her hated rival and covered up with, "Wow, Ginny, you look great."

Indeed, she did look great. Her red hair was down, falling about her shoulders in ringlets. She had a dark blue top on and black jeans that hugged her curves in a way Hermione could never achieve. The slightest touch of makeup did wonders for Ginny's appearance, and Hermione found herself feeling slightly jealous.

Malfoy sidestepped Hermione from behind and opened his arms, letting Ginny slide in. Hermione, feeling slightly uncomfortable for watching, sidled over to the island counter and set the bottle down on it, drumming her fingers on the surface for a moment or two as she heard the unmistakable sound of two pairs of lips pressing together feverishly.

"Um," she said softly, tapping her foot, "I . . . need to go get changed." And without glancing over at Ginny and Malfoy, she walked out into the foyer and back up her staircase to her room.

The moment she'd crossed the threshold she slammed the door. "Fuck you, Malfoy," she muttered. Even though he's not worth it, she decided firmly. Then her mind groaned in frustration. But why did he always have to make himself seem like he was worth it? He was worth every filthy, bad, wrong, cruel, disgusting swear word imaginable.

She discarded the jumper and shorts, throwing them across the room onto her bed and clenched her hair with both hands lightly, inhaling and exhaling deep, excruciating breaths to calm herself down for the second time in only five minutes. "Stupid, idiotic, worthless, grimy Malfoy. Go back to hell with its other spawns."

Instead of going back to her drawer, she walked over to her wardrobe and flung the doors open. In it she found a flattering red top with black pants to match Ginny's. She slipped into the clothes hastily and stepped in front of her mirror, trying and failing to avoid fretting mentally over her hair.

"Damn," she muttered, running her fingers through the wavy locks. Biting her lip, she pulled it up and held it on top of her head, turning her head around to look at it in all directions.

"What a jungle," she said exasperatedly.

Before long she had pinned it in a wispy bun that didn't exactly look too bad. She spun around in front of the mirror to check how she looked, and then hurried back down the stairs. She was, after all, the host.

* * *

"Malfoy, what in God's name is this stuff?"

The party was as loud as ever at around half past nine. Everyone was talking and laughing in groups scattered around the house and the backyard, across the lawn and on the large wooden dock that looked over her lake in the back, where people were sitting, on the edge, dangling their feet off over the side, their shoes either in their laps or resting next to them. Fred and George were scaring people away from the dock though; for the last half hour they'd been trying to lure people onto it and then nonchalantly nudge them rather roughly over the edge. Molly was beside herself. But naturally the second she moved away they'd find another candidate.

Harry had arrived at around seven thirty. The way the guests had cheered, Hermione herself would have doubled back and come through the door one more time, and the applause would still be quite as outstanding as the first round. All in all it was an amazing turnout. Everyone was having a real blast and Hermione didn't think her house had ever been so packed.

Ginny and Hermione had stationed the buffet in the dining room near the glass sliding door that lead to her balcony, and had packed it with all kinds of munchies and snacks. The table, which was enchanted to automatically fill back up when cleared of its items, was surrounded by hungry guests, and it appeared Malfoy's wine bottle was working on the same level. It was delicious; seemingly innocent but dangerous with a defined kick. At least forty people had filled their glasses to the rim, and it was still pretty full.

Malfoy plucked the bottle lazily from Hermione's hands and turned the label towards her. She read the name Malfoy Vineyards embellished across the front in red slash-like letters the same crimson shade as the wine itself. Hermione was perplexed.

"You own your own vineyards?"

"The fact that I would own anything in this world shouldn't be a surprise to you, Granger." He grinned, a sly, smirking grin, and Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"Do you do it because you like wine or just to prove arrogant brats with cash in their pockets are capable of anything?"

Malfoy imitated her eyebrow, mirroring her expression of slick interrogation, but didn't dare say anything rash to her with Harry so close by. "Maybe both. I'm no less richer." He took a swig from his own glass and sighed satisfyingly. Then he eyed her for a moment and pointed with a finger that was still wrapped around the glass. "Hey, you've got money, Granger. Make your own wine. You can call it . . . Yummy." He laughed at his own joke and passed the bottle to her as he brushed by, shaking his head as if disbelieving to his own amazing sense of humor. Shooting the back of his head a disgusted look, she bit her lip, but then poured herself a glassful of her own and took a delicate sip. Malfoy wasn't kidding; it really packed a punch.

"Wow," she said quietly, staring at the glass as she pulled it back. It was spiky and tingling, rolling down her throat and sizzling in her chest. But behind the zing it filled her with a very warm, content feeling that relaxed her muscles and boosted her spirit ever so slightly.

Milling through the thick crowd she searched the tops of peoples' heads, searching for tousled raven hair over the smooth blondes and browns (and the occasional fiery, Weasley red) that were almost too redundant. Finally, she spotted the forehead of a certain six-foot Seeker and his hair, messier than usual, over the sea of people in her parlor corridor, and she made her way towards him.

Harry grinned widely as she approached, a glass identical to her own in his hand. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, pulling her into a one armed hug and kissing the top of her head. "Great turnout, eh?" he added, giving her shoulder a gentle shake.

"Yes, and if I didn't know any better I'd say there are people rooting for you," she said, her arm around his waist. Standing around them were Harry's team mates, all with wine and delirious grins as they laughed at some of the jokes they were telling. Sharing Feeney was their Keeper. He was thin, about six inches taller than Harry with sandy, spiked hair and a great smile. The moment he laid eyes on her it flashed brightly.

"Hey, Miss Granger," he said happily.

Hermione growled and stomped her foot in playful frustration. "Sharing! Stop it; you're making me sound old! Call me Hermione. Please!"

He laughed. "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting."

"How many times will I have to tell you?"

"Just once more, as always."

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully and then she looked up at Harry. "Eaten anything? There's some great chicken out there if you're hungry."

"Nah, not yet. Lemme polish off a few glasses more --" he shook his glass lightly "-- and then I'll eat."

"You better hope you do. I didn't cook all afternoon for nothing, Potter," she said in mock sternness before giving his bottom a loving pat.

"No, you cooked it for me," Harry grinned.

"Damned straight. You wouldn't believe how long it took, too. Almost four hours."

"Liar, you used your wand."

They both erupted into giggled, leaning against the other for support. The others just watched out of the corners of their eyes as they had started talking amongst one another so it wouldn't seem like they were listening in on a conversation. Harry and Hermione sometimes lost themselves in each other, even when they were surrounded by friends and family. It was Hermione's sanctuary; she felt like she wasn't where she was. Not here, not there. With Harry. That was the only way to describe it.

"You're my bestest buddy ever, Hermione," said Harry in his teasing little kid voice.

"Same for you, Harry," she snickered back, scrunching her nose and pressing her forehead against his.

They clicked their glasses together with a brisk "Cheers," and held the glass up to the other's mouth, taking a small sip from the glass at their lips. Then, pulling away again, they drank from their own glass and said with fierce grins at each other, "Always."

The others and a few around them who'd watched them were clearly baffled by this amazingly comfortable gesture, but they quickly turned back to whatever they were doing, letting it pass unquestioned.

Hermione grabbed Harry's chin and kissed his cheek. "Eat something."

"Yes, Mum."

Hermione rolled her eyes and brushed past him into the parlor to greet the other guests.

* * *

It was closing into the end of the party at around ten thirty when Ron pulled out a tall bottle of Crown Royal whiskey. Hermione reluctantly conjured everybody a shot glass, and Ron made a quick job of pouring for all the guests he could find.

"Ron," Harry said, laughing, "where the hell did you pull this out of?"

"Went to America for a week last year, and been saving it for a special occasion," Ron said, grinning as he poured Harry a glass before taking a quick swig from the bottle. "This stuff is older than anyone in this room. It's actually giving Dumbledore a run for his money, if you'll believe it."

"Ron, are you sure?" Hermione asked him nervously, watching him pour her more than all the other glasses in the room. "I don't want anyone getting trashed . . ."

"Hermione, please, it's only one!" Ron laughed. "Besides, even I doubt it's that strong."

Not only did these words not encourage Hermione, but they left her in serious doubt that any person in this room would wake up tomorrow without a headache.

Once everyone was set, Ron held up his glass. "Attention!" he called, and the crowd slowly hushed themselves. "Okie dokie, then. As we all know, my good friend Harry . . ." the crowd cheered, ". . . and the rest of Puddlemere United . . ." even louder cheering, ". . . have just landed themselves in the Quidditch World Cup!"

Hermione whooped and cheered happily with everyone else. "Go United!" she yelled, and other people around the room echoed.

Ron motioned for silence. "Well," he said when he had again regained silence. "We're all going to be cheering them on, but there's no such a cheer as good as one that's washed down with a nice, healthy shot of America's finest whiskey." Everyone laughed. "So, on three then, United for the Cup. Hermione," he said, and everyone looked at her. "Mind doing the count down?"

"I do actually, Weasley. I'd hate to countdown to everyone's wasted fate," she said, and everyone laughed. "One, two, three!"

"UNITED FOR THE CUP!" everyone shouted, and they all shot down their whiskey. Hermione did it, the strong surge of the whiskey coating her mouth and throat with a boiling taste.

Ron grinned at all their reactions. "Good, isn't it?"

"Surprisingly!" Seamus said.

Malfoy caught Hermione's eye, and she saw him shake his head, his eyes slightly out of focus, and she laughed shortly. "Met your match, Malfoy?" she said softly to herself, before turning back to the party, where people were grabbing their coats. It didn't surprise her that they were leaving early. They all had to be up early. Harry especially. He needed to be at the stadium at around four the following morning.

Slowly, the house began to empty. Hermione kissed many a cheek and bid farewell to every guest as she stood by the door, watching them all leave and waving. It seemed to take hours for everyone in the entire house to leave, and then she and Ginny made sure there were no stragglers out in the backyard. By around eleven, the only people left were Hermione, Harry, Ginny, Malfoy, and Ron.

"Say, Ron," Hermione asked in the midst of their conversation they'd been having about the night's events, "why, did you say, couldn't Genevieve come?"

Ron took another sip of the Malfoy wine. "Her mother asked her to spend the day since her father had gone out golfing. I wanted to go with her, but she insisted I come here. Didn't need to tell me twice," he added with a large grin.

"Oh Ron," Ginny said. "I sure hope you didn't make her think that you didn't want to go with her."

"Well, I didn't in the first place, and we both knew it. I tried hard to make her happy, but I think she knew I'd be happier with you guys. Besides, it's not as if I'd have any idea what I was doing shopping with women."

"Uh, cheers to that, mate," said Harry, grinning and clicking glasses with Ron. Everyone else was laughing.

They were all seated around Hermione's kitchen at her table. Ginny was propped on Malfoy's knee with his arm around her waist, Harry in the chair next to Hermione's, and Ron on the table with his long legs dangling over the side, the tips of his sneakers brushing on the ground. They each had a glass of Malfoy's vine in their hands, and even though Ron had tried to boycott it a few hours before, he himself had had at least three glasses. Taking another swig, Hermione gave Harry a curious glance. "Ready for tomorrow, Harry?"

He grinned. "Of course I'm ready, as I am for every match."

"This isn't just a match Harry. It's the Cup."

He shrugged and took another sip of his wine, eyeing her over the rim as he did so. She knew he was nervous. He just had this terrible knack of letting his pride in the way.

"I'm ready for it," he said, crossing his legs in front of him. "This is the biggest event of the year. Arrows are going down, I can guarantee it."

"See, Hermione?" Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "He'll be fine. They can't lose with him with them."

"Now don't jinx it, Ron," Hermione warned, but Harry cut across her almost immediately.

"There's nothing to jinx!" he snapped. Hermione winced, as did Ron and Ginny, but Malfoy seemed rather unperturbed.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Harry," she said, trying to put her hand reassuringly on his knee, but he moved his leg roughly, indicating to her he didn't want her to touch him. Things had suddenly gotten rather tense. "I . . . I only meant that --"

"Go ahead. Tell me what you meant then," he said in an unusually hearty voice, his brow furrowed in an unmistakable look of fury.

Hermione was speechless. What had caused all this to happen? She was just implying not to get anyone's hopes up just in case something could happen. After realizing what she'd sounded like, she opened her mouth, but Harry was already standing up. "I think I should get going," he said in a set manner. "I don't want to get too drowsy on the pitch. I might cause us to lose the whole damn match or something absolutely absurd like that."

Hermione heart split open. "Harry!" she implored, but he'd already Disapparated, the glass he'd been holding falling to the ground with a clinking of shattering crystal.

There was an abruptly long, deafening silence as they all looked at Harry's broken wineglass. Hermione could barely breathe. The still moment was interrupted by Draco who took another loud, slurpish sip of wine, set it on the table, swallowed and said, "Yup, he's a nervous wreck."

"Draco!" Ginny hissed at him, slapping his arm sharply.

"What?" he asked, shrugging. "He is. You're all thinking it too, I'm just saying it."

Tears were welling up in Hermione's eyes. She put her glass down and flopped herself onto its surface, burying her face in her arms.

"On, Hermione . . ." she heard Ginny say, shocked.

Hermione didn't know what to do or say. She wasn't suggesting anything towards Harry. I should've just kept my mouth shut, she though despairingly. Draco was right; you are a bitch . . .

She lifted her head up. "I didn't mean anything by it, you guys."

"We know," Ron said. "Don't worry." He patted Hermione on the shoulder and took another sip of his wine. "Come to think, Harry's been awful stressed nowadays, hasn't he? I'd just gone over his pad the other night to have a chat and he was rushing around the place like a lunatic looking for one of his books or something."

Hermione frowned. "He's been reading too much."

There was a loud silence in which the three other occupants of the room looked at each other, smirking. She frowned more. "What?"

Ginny looked at Ron. "Did Hermione Granger just say 'reading too much' like it was a bad thing?"

"That's it, call the papers," Draco said, smacking his hand down onto the table as if to say right away.

They laughed and Hermione huffed. "What is this? Make Fun of Hermione Day? Everyone's been at it all today! And stop it with those stupid headline cracks!"

But everyone was still laughing.

* * *

Hermione walked out of the bathroom and into her room, her nose deeply buried in her book and hairbrush in hand. Her nightgown came down past her knees and was white with large pink blossoms. She absentmindedly ran the brush through her hair as she read a passage.

The night was cool and balmy, moonlight spilling on an angle through her window. A light wind that traveled through brushed through her hair and against her skin. Distracted, she looked up, a mild expression on her face, one of drowsiness and content. The scent was heavenly. She inhaled through her nostrils and let the feeling pass down her throat.

Something was strangely familiar about the smell of the breeze and she had an inkling that it was not a what that also held this particular smell but a who. Her brow furrowed, her forgotten book down at her side, and she sniffed the air, her head tilted upwards and her eyes flicking back and forth in concentration.

"Who . . . ?" she voiced softly, but she never finished her thought.

"Hermione!" someone whispered.

She shrieked. "Who's there?" she said, dropping the book and moving away from the window. She was almost certain she'd heard someone.

"Who's there?"

"Hermione . . ."

It was like a breath of wind. If she hadn't been so keen on hearing something, she probably wouldn't have heard it at all. Her hand crept up and rubbed against her collar nervously. "Hello? Is . . . is someone there?"

For a moment, her legs were like ice. The room was dark, shadows cast everywhere. And then, her feet began moving. As if on their own volition. Slowly moving her closer to the window, where the voice was coming from.

"Hello?" She asked again as she came to the windowsill, putting her hands on it. The wind was blowing softly through the room like a wave of intoxication, sifting her dressing gown as though it too was a breeze itself. Her ducked her head out into the night air and gazed out onto the treeless backyard that faded against the lake, where the moonlight shone white and sparkling against the surface.

But as she opened her mouth, a hand grabbed her neck and suddenly, she was being pulled out of the window, falling --

"NO!"

"WHOA!"

CRASH.

"Ahh!"

"Ugh . . ."

Hermione had shot out of her sleep, and someone had been hovering over her. She groped for her wand next to her on her bedside table, but just as her fingers had closed around it, she saw the all-to familiar mop of unruly raven hair on the head of someone breathing very hard sprawled at a strange angle next to her bed, having tripped over their sock-clad feet in shock.

"HARRY!"

He lifted his head and looked at her, offering a half-hearted grin. "Um . . . he-hello, Hermione."

She flung the covers, which had been twisted in every direction in the course of her dream, off of herself and slid out of bed. Harry attempted to hoist himself up, but he flopped back again, his heart obviously racing. "Jesus Christ, Hermione . . . where the hell do you come off waking up like that? My heart's in a spin . . ."

"Harry, may I be so bold as to ask where the hell you come off breaking into my room and waking me up like that?" Upon kneeling down next to him and helping him up, she smelled something that was invading her nostrils. Harry's soap. She'd smelled it in her sleep.

"I . . . ow, that hurt . . . I flew up to your window. My broom's over by the sill."

"You're an idiot, Harry. You were actually invading my dreams!"

"Oooh," he said slyly, giving her a wink. "Coital fantasies, Miss Granger? I'm very surprised. Not that I'm not the sexy beast everyone envisions me as . . ."

"Sod off, Harry!" she said, smacking his arm and blushing furiously.

He laughed and deflected all her slapping hands. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding." Hermione gave him a pillow and he put it on his lap.

"Harry?" she asked as she sat him on the bed. "Just . . . just how long were you standing there watching me sleep?"

He looked around at her quickly as she headed over to the door of the room and flicked the lights on, the bluish glow of the moon vanishing to be replaced with 100 watts of yellowish light. The grin was beginning to curl at his lips. "How'd you know I was watching?"

Hermione pulled on her bathrobe and gave him a stern, you-better-watch-out kind of look. "Actually I didn't know you were watching me, Mr. Potter, but I smelled your soap in my dream and I'm guessing you were just standing there. Since the beginning of it, really."

He tapped her forehead as she sat down. "Clever girl, you are. Well, I was watching because you were picking your nose --"

"What?!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide, but Harry was laughing uproariously at her reaction and she knew he was lying. She grabbed a pillow and whacked him dully with it. "Shut up."

"I'm only kidding. I was watching because I'd never seen you look so . . . peaceful. Like,, you don't look as though you want to rip your hair out. Not that you usually do," he added quickly to her glare, "but you seemed . . . call me a sap, but you seemed rather at peace with the world. Up until you woke up, that is," he finished as an afterthought, tucking a strand of her wavy brown hair back behind her ear and then tapping her nose, prompting a grin from her.

His manner was pleasant, as was hers, and then she faintly recalled their little snag from earlier on, and her heart began fluttering as she realized he obviously wasn't mad at her anymore. But she still felt a tiny tug in her stomach. "Thanks for the compliment . . ."

"Anytime."

". . . But I'm guessing you didn't come here to watch me sleep, though, Harry."

Now he seemed hesitant. She smirked as he cast around for his words carefully, and she said, "So, the Peeping Tom decided to waltz into a scantly clad woman's room and watch her for a good time, eh, Potter?"

The shade of magenta that bloomed over Harry's face and neck should have been illegal. "No!" he said quickly. "No, no, not at all. I was . . . er, I --"

"Harry, I'm joking," she said dully, grinning at him. "I'm rather clad, so no worries. You came to tell me something, I surmise? You did try to wake me up, right?"

"Yeah, but I only wanted to tell you something," Harry said quietly, looking at her.

Hermione waited, but he said nothing. "What was it you wanted to say?"

Harry took a deep, deep breath, and looked over at her, his eyes reflecting the warmth that she had always loved. "I want to apolo --"

"Oh, Harry, that's so romantic of you!" she said swoonishly, and she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and collapsed on her back on the bed, her hair splaying out around her head. "You fly heroically to my room in the still of the night just to apologize! I think I'm in love!"

She burst then into loud peals of delirious laughter. Harry started laughing to, and she tried feebly to shield herself from his pillow as he ruthlessly began to pound her with it, her laughing the whole time and he growling playfully. Hermione finally managed to roll out from under him and run around to the other side of the bed, watching him warily.

"Harry! Harry, oh Harry!" Hermione squealed in a falsely high voice that he recognized immediately as her Fan Girl Voice. He started to edge around the side of the bed, but she edged to opposite way, avoiding him. "Oh Harry! I love you so much! I want to be Mrs. Potter! Look! I've already filled out the forms! And here're the rings that I bought with your money! Thousands of Galleons each! Just say 'I do!' and we can be together forever!"

Harry lunged at her, but she jumped onto the bed and he missed, toppling to the ground. But she wasn't done. As she bounced like a giddy little girl on the bed, she squealed, "Not only do I love you, darling, but also your money! I can't wait till you kick the bucket! I'll be rich! Yippee!"

Harry hadn't bothered to pick himself off the ground, because he was too busy wheezing with laughter. "S . . . stop!" he choked, clutching his stomach. Her voice was so high and girlish it was absolutely hilarious hearing it come from Hermione.

She stopped from her bouncing on the mattress abruptly and turned to look at him, a look of horror etched comically across her face. "Oh no! Oh no, oh no, oh no! Harry! You fell! You're hurt! I know! I'll take you to the hospital!" She jumped down from the bed and leaned over him. "Harry, oh Harry! Where does it hurt, my darling, my love, my own personal piggybank?"

Now he had gotten into the act. "Everywhere!" he said in a painfully hearty voice.

She grabbed his hand. "Here? Tell me!"

"Yes! Yes, here, there, everywhere, you have to save me, Hermione Granger! Save me!" Even though their voices were filled with terror, the fierce grins on their faces were classic.

She kissed his palm. "Where else does it hurt?"

"Everywhere, everywhere, save me, save me!"

She placed big, sloppy kisses up his arm and when she got to the sleeve of his pajamas, she kissed up his neck, him laughing at the tickling sensations, and when she got to his cheek, she put her lips on it a blew hard, omitting a loud, obnoxious, raspberry sound that vibrated violently against the side of his face.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, and grabbed her side. She shrieked as he tickled her, and then he stopped, jumping up from the floor and strutting. "My goodness! I'm cured! Look at me! I'm a new man!"

Hermione, who was propped on her elbows watching him, giggled at him as he pulled the face of a kid in a candy shop, looking at his body as though he didn't recognize himself.

"Hermione Granger you've saved my life!" He hurried over to her and helped her to her feet and before she could do or say anything he scooped her into his arms and began to dance around. "Such a clever witch! How can I reward such a clever witch?"

She was laughing uproariously. This was the Harry she loved. Not the Quidditch Harry. Not the serious scholar Harry. Not the calm, cool, collected Harry. This Harry. Her Harry.

When her laughing softened to giggling, he set her right ways on her feet, both serious again, and he gave her an enormous hug, which she graciously returned.

"I really am sorry, Hermione," he sighed into her hair. "You were right. I'm nervous as hell."

She rubbed his back. "I know, Harry. I'm sure you are." They were rocking slightly in their embrace and Hermione smiled, snuggling her head against Harry's. "You don't have to be sorry. You were already forgiven." They pulled back and grinned at each other. Harry placed a sweet, chaste little kiss on her lips, and one on her nose. "I love you," he said softly, stroking her hair from behind. She ran her fingers through his in return. "I love you, too," she whispered.

He grinned and detached himself from her gently with a kiss on the forehead and he strode back over to the window, picking up his broom which was lying on the floor against the wall. "I had a great time tonight, by the way. I never exactly got a chance to tell you that, did I?"

"No, you didn't," Hermione said, following him to the window. He mounted and put a foot up on the sill. He was about to kick off when Hermione thought of something. "Wait!"

He stopped, mid lift, and looked around at her. "Yes?"

She hesitated, and then said, "Are you sure I wasn't picking my nose?"

He laughed out loud. "I'm positive." He winked, and launched himself out the window, soaring into the night air.

* * *

The moonlight spilled onto the cemetery, gleaming a grayish blue off the smooth, marble stones. It cast into the trees, throwing spindled shadows across the grass as the wind rustled the dried and crinkled leaves. The only noise was the howls of the icy breezes that chilled to the bone and caused dew to freeze to a glittering frost on the grass that spread unchecked over the graves.

Far into the graveyard, where the dark, sloping lawns were treeless and untainted with graves and their stones, the moonlight cast a small, stone, rundown little shed. Inside, there were steps that led down, down under the freezing earth into cold darkness.

In the darkness, however, there was a room.

At the farthest end from the entrance, there was a torch, flickering and lighting only enough to see a figure with its arms outstretched against the wall. Upon further observation, one would see the chains.

The figure, who was beaten, lifeless and numb with blood loss and shivering from the cold, lifted her head slowly. There were slashes riddling her features, botchily embroidering over what was once sheer beauty. Her icy eyes darted around the room. How long they had kept her there, one would never know. She hadn't aged in her imprisonment at all, which was too long to count. Decades, perhaps? More than she cared to think. All she knew was that she was as old as she was when she entered.

The pendant that hung on a silver chain around her neck was a bright crimson. This had been completely overlooked during her capture. Mistaken for a trinket, she often mused dryly. They had taken her for all the right reasons, but they still had no evidence to the reason. Something had caused destruction. Danger. Immortality. Mistakes that should never be made. And as always, the mistaken usually causes the biggest of all mistakes. . . .