Until Hermione

It was summer; his seventeenth on the planet.

And he was still stuck with the ever horrid, never changing Dursleys.

On July 31, a mere two weeks ago, he'd written to Dumbledore for permission to leave Number 4 Privet Drive forever to live on his own. He was of age, Voldemort had been vanquished and he was eager for his Dursley-free life to begin.

However, Dumbledore had refused, stating a vague fear of precedent. He didn't want young witches and wizards moving out of their parent's houses before they completed their magical education and using Harry Potter as the benchmark.

So here he stayed. Their contempt for him had risen by degrees the older he'd grown. And it didn't take a genius to figure out why. Every time their eyes fell on him, they were reminded again of the man he'd become. A young man that represented everything their son was not.

Today had been no different. In an effort to find someone for their overly large lump of a son to lavish his affections on, Vernon and Petunia had started hosting lawn parties, inviting the other families from Little Whinging - and their daughters. To give the girls their due, they didn't shun Dudley altogether. His diet from three years ago, along with a well timed growth spurt, meant that his cousin was no longer the size and shape of an oil barge. But one's weight had no bearing on one's temperament for the most part - and Dudley was still a bully. Funny how women of all ages could discern that and steer clear of it.

But that meant that they tended to flock towards him. And that put a twist in Petunia's knickers.

So here he sat, listening to another waspish diatribe from his aunt. He knew the song by heart almost, and ran through the words in his head as she lambasted him. You bloody flirt...stealing the attentions your cousin deserves...should be ashamed...a male version of your mother, the whore...

The anger that coursed through him at these last words made every window in the room burst outward. Hands shaking with suppressed rage, Harry swept from the room. Dumbledore be damned, he thought as he flung his belongings into his trunk, he wasn't staying in this house a moment longer. He trudged down the stairs, trunk in hand, glared once at his aunt and left the house. He would never again set foot inside Number Four Privet Drive...he was afraid of what he might do if he did.

Hands still shaking slightly as his anger ebbed, Harry went to the road, called for the Knight Bus and headed away. He had wanted to tell Ernie Diagon Alley, but for reasons he couldn't place, Hermione's address sprang from his lips instead. His mouth opened to correct himself, but then he closed it and decided to stop at her house first.

Before Harry really had a chance to enjoy the helter skelter trip across England, Harry found himself at the front door of the Granger's small house. He raised his hand to knock twice, lowering it each time without touching the wood. What was he doing here?

He had just turned to leave when the door opened on its own.

"Harry?" asked an older version of the voice he knew so well. He turned to face Mrs. Granger, forcing a smile to his lips.

"Hi, Mrs. Granger. Is Hermione here?"

If she found anything unusual in his presence at her house, she didn't let on. Instead, she opened the door for him and indicated the stairs in front of them. "Second bedroom on the left, Harry."

^*^*^*

Hermione stood in front of her open suitcase and wondered why the back of her neck had all of the sudden started prickling. Not only that, she puzzled, but her heart rate had increased as well.

And when there was a knock at the door, her physiology was in such a state that she nearly leapt from her own skin.

"Mum," Hermione sighed, placing a hand to her chest as she tried to calm her hammering heart, "you nearly scared the life from m...."

She stopped in mid word as her brain tried to process what her eyes were seeing. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. But when she opened them, Harry was still standing there.

"Harry?" she gasped and then threw herself into his arms.

In that first moment, when her arms came around his neck and he felt his own encircle her waist, his brain shut down. His nose filled with the scent of her hair, a mix of apples and cinnamon. Her shampoo, he guessed. Wondering idly if it felt as good as it smelled, Harry reached up to thread his fingers through it. Hermione stiffened in his arms and he cocked his head back to search her face.

For some reason, her eyes appeared almost hooded. The warm brown of them looked like chocolate that has been left in the sun. Harry felt his head lowering towards her, tilting to the side the closer he got. He heard vague alarm bells going off somewhere, a voice whispering something about this being his best friend. But right then, at that moment, he didn't care to hear either. Right now, the only thing that seemed to matter was --

"Hermione?"

Her mother's voice broke them apart quicker than if a bucket of cold water had suddenly upended over the top of them. "Yes, Mum?" Hermione called down the stairs, her voice sounding hoarse and shaky.

"We need to be leaving soon if we're going to make our flight."

"Where are you going?" Harry asked, surprised to find his voice as hoarse as Hermione's had been.

"Spain," she said softly, then her eyes widened. "Wait here."

She was gone before he could disagree. He rummaged in his pockets and came up with the bit of Muggle money he'd managed to squirrel away. It wasn't much, but it was enough to take the train from Heathrow to Charing Cross Road. He'd just ask Mr. and Mrs. Granger if he could ride with them to the airport and then...

Hermione came back into the room, her eyes bright and her smile contagious. He found himself returning her grin.

"Come with us," she panted, still winded from her rapid trip back up the stairs.

"Pardon?" Harry said, not certain he heard her correctly through the heavy breathing.

"We're going to Spain." Harry must have still looked shocked, because she continued. "We're off on holiday for a week. Come with us."

Harry had never been one for acting impulsively, at least, not anymore. That was more Ron's department these days. But right now, after the hell of the last two months at the Dursley's, Spain seemed a pretty good idea. He didn't think that Dumbledore would be any more upset with him if he ran away to Spain rather than to Diagon Alley; and this way, he was with the Grangers. Surely if Dumbledore had no problems with him staying with the Weasley's, he wouldn't have one with him being chaperoned by Hermione's parents.

"Okay," he said simply. He didn't want to think about why her answering smile made his stomach clench.

^*^*^*^

Harry stood at the edge of the warm Mediterranean Sea with the ebb and flow of the water rushing past his ankles. Over his shoulder, he could see the hotel and even make out the vague outline of the cabana Hermione and her parents now shared. He'd sat with them for a while, but the sight of Hermione in nothing but a bikini and sunscreen had him needing a walk to shift his thoughts.

They'd arrived the previous evening after a long discussion and a short flight. Once at the airport, Harry realized he had very little Muggle money with him. Not nearly enough to cover the cost of a plane ticket to Spain. The Grangers had insisted on paying his way, which he had refused. Finally, after ten minutes of batting around ideas for Harry to get some of the gold from his Gringotts vault, Mrs. Granger had slipped away, bought the ticket, and presented it to Harry as an early Leaving gift.

He had just opened his mouth to protest when he heard the boarding announcement for their flight. It was either accept, or cause all three Grangers to miss it. He accepted the ticket, but silently vowed to repay them the moment he got to Diagon Alley.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to see Hermione behind him. She'd wrapped a small skirt around her waist, but the rest of her was still clad only in two wisps of fabric and some pretty flimsy looking string. Just one tug and the whole lot would probably...He focused on a spot just over her left shoulder to keep his thoughts from progressing in that direction.

"In the rush of yesterday, we didn't really get a chance to talk. What happened? Why did you show up at my house?"

Harry started walking further down the beach, indicating that Hermione should follow him. As they walked, Harry told her everything that had happened over the last few months and the final outburst of anger. When he'd finished, he realized that somehow during his speech, his hand had become tangled up with Hermione's. Either that or he was holding her hand on purpose.

They walked in silence for a while. Harry forgot all about the Dursley's when Hermione's hand squeezed his. He stopped walking and turned to face her. When she smiled up at him, her eyes brilliant in the glow of the now setting sun, he forgot his own name.

Just as in her room the day before, Harry felt an overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss her. The same voice in his head reminded him that the witch before him was his best friend, but a louder voice told it to shut up. It also told Harry to kiss her before she pulled away.

Harry decided to listen to the louder voice.

Being seventeen, he'd kissed his share of witches. From the first awkward nose collision with Cho late in his fifth year to the goodbye kiss he'd given Hannah after they'd broken up a few months before, he thought he was pretty used to the feeling. He'd been dead wrong. Because touching his lips to Hermione's was like nothing he'd ever experienced. It was almost as if he'd kissed a live wire. The instant they made contact, his entire body felt the shock. His nerve endings exploded, his pulse went into overdrive and, well, the rest of him just went rigid.

The kiss seemed to take on a life of its own once the initial shock passed. Harry slanted his head to deepen the kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her lips in question. He groaned when she parted them in answer. His arms came around her and their kiss continued. Harry left no corner of her mouth unexplored, no part of her lips untasted. And his body began clamoring for more.

Suddenly, two things hit him. First, that he was kissing Hermione. Second that it was turning him on. Without a word to Hermione, Harry pulled away and ran flat out for the ocean, not stopping until he was waist deep. The water was warm, but it helped to cool the blood collecting below his waist. He turned from her to stare out over the horizon wondering exactly when he'd taken complete leave of his senses.

"Harry?"

He had faced the most vile dark wizard in the known world, he had battled dark magic at its most terrifying, and yet, for some reason, turning to face Hermione in that moment was the scariest thing he'd ever done.

Slowly, he shifted his feet until they were face to face. She was only a breath away and his arms ached to take her back into his arms and continue where he'd left off. But this was his best friend; and that was more important than a few minutes snogging on a beach.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said to the water, unable to raise his head to meet her eyes.

"For kissing me? Or for stopping?"

Harry's head whipped up and their eyes collided. She was smiling. He'd once noticed her smile in fourth year after her teeth had been fixed. And now, as then, Harry noticed it was a very different smile.

This smile was a bit mischievous, a bit worried. But it was all Hermione. It was his Hermione. He felt an answering grin play at the corners of his mouth as he reached for her.

"For stopping, I guess," he grinned fully as his lips descended towards hers again.

A while later, they walked hand in hand back towards the cabana. Mr. and Mrs. Granger said nothing as they sat back down. Harry felt a moment's uncertainty as she settled herself in front of him and leaned back using him as a back rest. He wouldn't have moved her for all the gold in Gringotts, though.

"Harry," Mrs. Granger said softly and Harry stiffened slightly, "I believe this is for you."

Harry turned to see a tawny owl perched on the back of her chair. He met her eyes briefly, and the acceptance he saw in them warmed him through to his soul. The owl flew towards him, waited patiently as he untied the letter, then took flight again.

"It's from Dumbledore," Harry told Hermione and her parents, recognizing the neat handwriting at once.

He scanned the letter, another smile curling his lips as he finished it. He handed it to Hermione and wrapped his arms tight around her as she read it.

"You don't have go back there? Ever?" She sounded as disbelieving as he felt.

"That's what he says," Harry said. "No more Dursleys."

Suddenly, the joy was too much. His happiness was too great to be contained in a body at rest. He leapt to his feet, pulled Hermione to standing and swung her in a circle. She laughed as he spun her, her eyes still bright with it once her feet hit the soft sand. Harry lowered his head but stopped just shy of kissing her again. They had an audience.

"Don't let us stop you," Mrs. Granger said from beside them. "We're just on our way back to the room for a while."

"We are?" Mr. Granger said, clearly puzzled until his wife nudged him in the ribs. "Oh, of course we are."

Harry watched as Hermione's parents walked arm and arm back towards the hotel. Harry looked down into Hermione's eyes. The future stretched out before him in that moment. His life away from the Dursley's; his life beside Hermione. Just as the waves crashed over the sand behind them, a sense of peace washed over him he'd never thought possible until that moment. Until Hermione.