Never All Together

Chapter 16: In My Dreams

I can't wait till we're alone
Somewhere quiet, on our own
So we can fall the rest of the way.
I know that before the night is through
I'll be talking love to you
Meaning every word I say.
Last time I felt like this
I was falling in love
Falling and feeling
I'd never fall in love again.

--- Alan Bergman and Marilyn Bergman (The Last Time I Felt Like This) ---

Severus sleepily entered the doors of the Great Hall on Friday morning, his long, black hair hanging limply down the sides of his face. He mechanically made his way to his place near the end of the Slytherin table, irritably ignoring the ruckus around him. Flopping down on the bench and still without looking at anybody, he asked the person sitting next to him to pass the plate of bacon.

"You, too?" his fellow Slytherin asked in surprise as he levitated the plate towards Severus.

He did not answer, not knowing the query was directed at him. Instead, he helped himself to the food on the table; in the midst of swallowing, he reached for his glass of pumpkin juice.

"Don't drink any more of that!" his companion exclaimed, slapping his hand and causing the drink to spill.

Severus slammed his glass down on the table and turned to glare at the one who had dared mess with him.

"What are you--"

He broke off, the fury smouldering in his eyes giving way to confusion. It was like looking into a mirror; he was staring back at his own face, his own pools of coals glaring at him with reproach.

"See, I told you! Someone spiked our morning juice with Polyjuice Potion!" Severus watched in fascination as his thick brows creased with worry. "What if I get stuck looking like old Snivelly for the rest of my life?"

Severus clenched his fists under the table as he struggled to keep his face impassive. A dosage only lasts for an hour, you stupid, blabbering idiot. He glanced around the Hall in anger. What he had originally taken as everyday noise had turned out to be an uproar brought about by the fact that the Slytherin table was peppered with exact clones of him. He glowered and turned back to his companion.

"Who did this?" he demanded.

"Nobody well-meaning, obviously," the other Slytherin drawled, his upper lip curling in a familiar sneer. "I don't imagine anyone sincerely wants to be that slimeball, do you?"

The unmistakably malicious glitter in his dark eyes gave him away as Regulus Black. Severus pressed his lips more tightly together and scornfully glared at the hordes of students laughing and pointing in their direction. Rage bubbled inside him. He glanced at the High Table, wanting to see how the Headmaster and the professors were dealing with the situation.

Why am I not surprised? he thought bitterly as he watched them carry on with their breakfast as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. His eyes drifted towards the Gryffindor table, where most of the racket seemed to be coming from, and travelled down its length until they came to rest on the Marauders. They seemed to be just a little too quiet in the midst of such a commotion--until he saw Sirius waggle his eyebrows and smirk contentedly, his eyes flitting over to the Slytherins.

Peter and James shot another amused look at the many Snapes dotting the Great Hall, all of whom were livid with anger, and burst out laughing once more.

That did it.

Hardly without thinking, Severus drew his wand and flicked it in the Marauders' direction. Levicorpus! He grinned evilly as he saw his enemies' laughter cease, Peter and Sirius now hanging upside-down in the air. The small, pudgy boy had squealed the moment the spell hit him and was now wearing an expression of fear, but Sirius had remained quite relaxed, the smile on his face almost matching that of the Slytherin's. He quickly aimed his wand at Severus, and in an instant, he too was suspended in the air by his ankles.

Severus scowled and sent a jet of red light careening towards the Gryffindor, who slightly twisted his body to avoid being hit.

"Is that the best you can do?" Sirius jeered, clearly enjoying the situation he was currently in.

"I'm surprised you still managed to identify me, Black," Severus retorted. "Had enough practice, I daresay."

Sirius rolled his eyes and snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, Snape; it's more of your hair being unrivalled in its grease, if you don't know it yet. And now I believe it's time for some payback. Engorgio!"

The remarkable precision with which he directed his wand enabled him to hit Severus right on his hooked nose. It started swelling immediately, and an enraged Severus roared and slashed his wand through the air, causing Sirius to spin like a top. Students had turned their attention to this new disturbance, some of them screaming and shrieking in panic. Flashes of light were being exchanged by the two black-haired wizards. In the midst of all the chaos, Severus was dimly aware of footsteps closing in on him...

"Finite Incantatem!"

He felt his nose deflate and fell headfirst to the ground. Two echoing thuds a few feet from him meant that those arrogant Gryffindors had also, without warning, dropped to the floor. He quickly righted himself and saw Peter and Sirius trying to ease their discomfort by rubbing the top of their heads.

"Mr. Black! Mr. Snape! What is the meaning of all this?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply, her beady eyes shifting from Severus to the Marauders and back again.

"He started it," Sirius answered nonchalantly, jamming his hands into his pockets and jerking his head at the Slytherin. "We were having breakfast when he suddenly hoisted us--"

Severus' face contorted in resentment as he turned to the Headmaster. "They were the ones who put Polyjuice Potion in our table's drink, sir!" he interrupted.

Sirius wrinkled his nose in distaste and was about to say something when Professor McGonagall silenced him with a fierce look. Albus Dumbledore surveyed the boys intently for several moments before his blue eyes came to rest on Severus.

"Do you have any proof?"

The Slytherin exhaled in frustration. The Headmaster, as usual, showed every sign of favouring his precious little Gryffindors. "No, sir," he replied, trying to maintain a note of respect. "But I know it was them! I just know!"

Professor Dumbledore sighed and addressed Professor Flitwick, "Please summon any of the house-elves who can shed light on this matter." The tiny wizard nodded and scurried away to do as he was told.

"What's going on?" a female voice asked warily, breaking the stares of intense loathing being exchanged by the Marauders and Severus.

James turned abruptly at the sound of Hermione's voice and flashed a smile at her. "Morning."

Hermione sensed the air of animosity around her and did not answer; a quick glance at the Slytherin table confirmed her suspicions. She held back an urge to laugh and looked at James. Her eyes met his and saw the quick rise and fall of his eyebrows--an inconspicuous warning to remain quiet.

Professor Flitwick returned a couple of minutes later with a raggedly dressed house-elf--who was oddly taller than him--in tow. "Headmaster," he began, "this elf said Sirius Black and his friends visited the kitchens last night."

Sirius snorted in visible annoyance. "I always thought house-elves were a bunch of traitorous little--OW!" He broke off with a yelp of pain; Remus had just jabbed him painfully in the ribs.

"What did they do in the kitchen?" Dumbledore asked the elf kindly.

Luminous, orb-like eyes first glanced accusingly at Sirius before turning to the Headmaster. "They asks Tinky to point the Slytherin bowl, sir, and then they puts something in it. Lala doesn't know what they put there."

"That was supposed to be considered as evidence?" Sirius asked cockily. "Really, the justice system we have this days--"

Professor McGonagall was bristling both with uncontained shame and fury. "Detention, all of you," she pronounced harshly. Severus opened his mouth to protest, but she narrowed her eyes at him and said, "You too, Mr. Snape."

"But I--I didn't have anything to do with the potion!" he argued, his face etched in disbelief.

"You were involved in that nasty scuffle this morning, weren't you? Or was it one of your Polyjuiced clones?" Without waiting for an answer, the Deputy Headmistress continued, "Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin--to the hospital wing after dinner."

"Severus and Peter can help me sort the newly-delivered Potions ingredients," Professor Slughorn remarked, speaking for the first time. Peter's jaw dropped open, his features horrified. He shot a pleading look at his friends, all of whom were wearing expressions of mingled revulsion and pity.

"Mr. Potter, to the trophy room," Professor McGonagall ordered. "The caretaker will be overseeing your detention tonight."

"I have rounds, Professor," James reminded her. "I'm Head Boy."

"Precisely, Mr. Potter, why you shouldn't go about sneaking out in the middle of the night putting Polyjuice Potion in other people's drinks!" Professor McGonagall said, her terse voice nearly shrill.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I was there too, Professor."

Distracted and surprised, Professor McGonagall blinked a few times before uttering, "Miss Weisz!"

"No, she wasn't," James denied, throwing Hermione an annoyed glance.

"Yes, I was," Hermione countered. "You can ask the house-elves." At this, she turned to look at Lala. "I was there last night, wasn't I?"

The elf nodded dumbly, probably wondering why anybody would willingly seek detention despite being given the chance to get away.

Hermione turned back to Professor McGonagall. "I suppose I deserve detention too?"

Professor McGonagall sighed while Professor Dumbledore gave the merest half-smile. "Of course you do, Miss Weisz. Minerva, how do you suppose she can serve detention?"

"She can be with me," James suggested, his defiant features daring anyone to contradict him. "Dealing with Filch alone will be a nightmare."

Hermione and the rest of the Marauders broke into barely concealed smiles at his words.

"Very well, Miss Weisz. You'll be in detention with Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall conceded wearily.

"My rounds, Professor--"

Her lips thinned as she fixed him with her stern glare. "You will do your part of the rounds only after your detention, Mr. Potter. Is that clear?"

James was now wearing an expression sour enough to curdle milk.

"Well, now that has been settled," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully, "you can all proceed to your first class. I don't think we can expect any more trouble today, am I right?"

Only small, irritable nods and hesitant grumbles of assent answered the Headmaster's question.

* * * * * * *

"I've never been in detention before," Hermione told James while buffing trophies later that evening. After a hurried dinner, they had rushed to the trophy room a quarter after seven, where Filch had ruthlessly tasked each of them with polishing five enormous plaques--without magic. It was already half past eight, and both of them were only on their third trophy. At this rate, we're going to be here until ten o'clock. The very idea made her want to drop in exhaustion.

"You mean you've never broken school rules before?" James asked, wetting his rag with additional wax.

Hermione shrugged. "I have, but mostly for noble purposes, so I don't end up being punished.

"You mean like battling a fourteen-feet troll?" James kidded.

"Something like that, yes," Hermione said seriously, scrubbing the trophy more vigorously.

James scrutinised her more carefully, noting her drooping eyes and pale cheeks. She did look tired. He grimaced and silently kicked himself for being so insensitive. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

"I volunteered myself for detention, James, just in case you had forgotten," Hermione replied.

"Yes, but I was the one who talked you into going with us."

"I was the one who allowed you to talk me into it," Hermione answered, speaking with finality. She blew dust particles away and smiled up at him. "I don't regret it, you know. It was worth the experience. Only..."

"Only what?" James asked, concerned.

Hermione glared at the gleaming silver cup she was holding. "Why do awards to Quidditch dunderheads have to be so big?"

"Hey, I'm Quidditch Captain!" James protested laughingly. "And I'm about the smartest person I know."

Hermione snorted. "Coming from you, that's not exactly high praise," she teased. "Thank Merlin tomorrow's a Saturday."

James laughed, knowing she wasn't really annoyed with him. "Do you want me to finish those for you?" he asked, gesturing to the two cups still in need of attention.

"Thanks for the offer, James, but you need enough energy for your rounds afterwards." Hermione stretched her aching arms and reached for the fourth trophy in line. "Besides, I'm almost done."

When Hermione wasn't looking, James discreetly pulled his wand out and waved it over the plaque he was holding. It was gleaming as new in an instant. He smiled in satisfaction just as Hermione turned to glance at him--and at the last piece of metal he was supposed to be working on.

"How did you do that so quickly?" she asked him suspiciously. Her eyes widened as realisation dawned on her. "Filch told us not to use magic!"

"And you're actually going to listen to what that old bat said?" James replied smartly.

Hermione bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from snapping. "But if we get another detention because of this--"

James laughed, trying to ease her worries. "We will not," he assured her, but the sceptical look remained on her face. "Look, Filch is a Squib. He cannot recognise magic any better than the walls of this room can." Without waiting for her consent, he waved his wand over the cups assigned to her and smiled. "There. That was easy, wasn't it?"

Footsteps approaching the room from outside quickly became audible; James quickly picked up his rag and motioned for Hermione to do the same. "Pretend you're hard at work," he whispered just as Filch entered the room and slammed the door behind him.

The cat perched on the caretaker's shoulder purred. "Finished yet?" Filch snarled, looking over the trophies they had been assigned to and inspecting them one by one. Hermione was holding her breath while she waited for his verdict; James, on the other hand, looked every bit as composed as he usually did. After fifteen minutes of suspicious scrutiny, Filch turned to them and said, quite disappointed, "You may go. Mind you don't go wandering around after hours anymore."

Hermione did not need to be told twice. She rushed out the door and quickly made her way to the Gryffindor tower, James on her heels. Only when she had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady did she look back at him.

"I thought you still had your rounds," Hermione said, slightly out of breath.

"I do," James affirmed. "I just wanted to make sure you got back here safe--not that I needed to, of course. The way you walked, anybody would think a manticore was after you." He smiled down at her, and Hermione felt her toes curl in a shiver. "Good night."

She had to swallow hard before answering. "Good night."

James waited until she had entered the portrait hole before once more descending the stairs to the Great Hall, a silly smile playing on his lips. He decided that he had to finish his rounds at once; he still had something more important to attend to. He hastily checked the corridors, classrooms and towers on the right side of the castle, the half he knew Lily had not bothered visiting tonight. Amazingly, he accomplished everything in just half an hour. He glanced at the gigantic clock on the wall and saw that it was almost ten o'clock. With a burst of speed, he hurried to the Hogwarts kitchens and tickled the pear so that the door would open.

The house-elves looked surprised to see him back so soon, especially after having just served detention.

"Mr. Potter, sir," Tinky squeaked as she approached him. "Tinky doesn't think you should be here; someone might tell the Headmaster again..." At these words, she threw a dirty look at Lala, who glared back.

He grinned easily at her. "Don't worry. I am not up to any trouble this time, Tinky. I just wanted two more cups of that splendid hot chocolate we had last night."

Tinky's eyes grew watery. "Sir liked it then?"

"Very much," James answered with a nod.

She broke into a toothless smile and immediately hustled about as she prepared the drinks James had requested. Within a minute, Tinky had already filled two cups with hot chocolate and had set them on a silver plate, which she readily handed to him. James's utterances of gratitude were waved away by the elf, and he was ushered outside with pleasant words of expectant return.

He would have dashed all the way up to Gryffindor tower if he weren't afraid the chocolate would spill, even though the tray had been levitated, so he climbed the stairs at an excruciatingly slow pace that tested his patience.

"Canis Major," he told the Fat Lady once he had reached it. The portrait swung open, and he climbed through it, followed by the silver plate. He immediately scanned the room, only to see his fellow Marauders huddled around a wizards' chess set. They looked up at him as he approached.

"What took you so long, Prongs?" Sirius enquired. "Not that I'm complaining, since I got to beat Moony several times in a row, but still."

"I did my rounds," he answered with a touch of impatience, not wanting to discuss his detention any further. If it wasn't for the company he was with, he would have felt like he had gotten the rougher end of the deal. His hazel eyes shifted from one friend to another. Where is she? He glanced around the common room once more, as though the one he was seeking was waiting to pop out from behind one of the couches.

"Looking for someone?" Sirius asked slyly without looking up.

James blinked and sighed. He might as well ask them. "Have you seen Regina?"

"Last time I saw her, she was with you," Remus said, his lips turning up in a small smile as he realised the game Sirius was playing.

The bespectacled Marauder ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Why were they making it so difficult for him? "I know, but I still had my rounds, okay? She returned ahead of me--"

"She's already gone to bed," Peter finally answered properly, wincing while he watched Sirius' knight strike down Remus' pawn. "She said she was tired."

A flicker of annoyance passed over James's face. He took hold of the silver plate hovering in front of him and sat down beside Sirius, setting the tray a little abruptly on the table. The cups clattered, and some of the chocolate spilled.

"Hot chocolate?" Sirius commented with a raised brow before prodding his queen to safety. "Who's that for?"

"For me," James replied shortly, staring hard at the dark brown liquid that oddly resembled the colour of her eyes.

"Yeah?" Sirius teased, looking at his best friend carefully for the first time. "So why do you have two cups?"

"Because," James said emphatically, still without looking up, "I'm thirsty enough for two."

Remus smiled faintly at James's behaviour. "Why don't you start drinking then?"

James frowned. "I just decided that I don't feel like drinking now."

"Doesn't it taste good without her?" Peter asked innocently, causing James's frown to deepen.

"Come on, Prongs," Sirius prompted, laughing openly now. "Stop fooling around. We know the other cup was supposed to be for Regina."

"You sound so sure," James challenged.

Peter shook his head in mock despair at his friend's stubborn streak. "Tell us otherwise, then."

James pondered him for several moments before bursting into a laugh. He threw his hands up in surrender. "Okay, you all got me. It was supposed to be for her." At the ridiculous wiggling of Sirius' eyebrows, he slapped him hard on the shoulders and said, "I was hoping we could share another nightcap, that's all."

"Why bother," Sirius asked, rubbing his suddenly sore muscles, "if you don't fancy her?"

James stopped laughing and fell quiet, a familiar, thoughtful expression on his face.

"There's something I don't get though," Sirius continued. "It's been, what--" He counted on his fingers. "It's only been three weeks since you decided you were finished with Lily, and now you're interested in someone else?" He crowed and returned his friend's slap on the shoulder. "I always knew you were a ladies' man like me."

Although Sirius did not know it, James had also been thinking along the same lines in an attempt to sort out what he was feeling for Regina. Everything seemed to be happening so fast, so soon...

"Does time matter?" Peter asked out of the blue, breaking James's train of thoughts.

"It does, in a way," Remus answered. "Some things, like friendships, grow stronger over time."

Peter toyed with a chess piece before saying, "I don't think one's appreciation of somebody would grow over time if that someone didn't like that somebody in the first place."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Would you mind rephrasing that more clearly?"

"In simpler terms," Peter complied, smiling now, "I think James should give Regina a shot."

"Three hundred and eightieth time lucky, you mean?" Sirius questioned sarcastically.

"She isn't Lily," Remus quietly said. "If the way things have been going is an indication of your chances with her, James, I'd say it's pretty good." A dull ache had started once more at the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to churn it out.

James still didn't look convinced. "But she's nice to everybody else, which doesn't make me any more special than the rest of you."

No matter how many times he chided that selfish part inside him, Remus somehow couldn't bring himself to say what Regina had admitted to him back in Hogsmeade. "Do you know, you look even more nervous with her than you ever did with Lily," he said instead, a wry smile on his face.

It wasn't the mention of Lily's name that startled him, but the implication of what his friend had just said. "I do?" James broke into a sheepish grin and scratched his head, staring into a distance. A powerful emotion, one he yet had to name, was rippling through him. "That's quite troubling, isn't it?" Unwittingly, he recalled the warmth he felt every time Regina looked at him with her soft eyes and whenever she touched him. Even now he could hear the compassion in her voice, the sweet, happy melody of her laughter ringing in his ears. Sirius was right. He cared for her a little too deeply, a little too much, a little too soon... The incessant pounding of his heart alarmed him. What in the name of Merlin was he supposed to do?

Remus let out a low chuckle, amused. "Judging from the smile on your face, James, I don't think it is."

* * * * * * *

Hermione put down the book she had spent reading the entire afternoon, stretched her arms over her head and yawned. It was Saturday afternoon; she had woken up rather late that morning and had missed breakfast. Still tired from last night's detention, she would have given anything for a cup of tea, but she decided that a trip to the library would be just as soothing.

She stood up and approached Madam Pince to check the book out, deciding to read the rest of it in the common room. She walked out of the library afterwards, and as she made her way back to the Gryffindor tower, she wondered where the Marauders--James--were. She had caught sight of Peter for only a few seconds earlier that day, who said something about her owing James a cup of hot chocolate. She had simply stared at him in bewilderment; he was grinning widely, so there had to be something funny about what he just said, but somehow she missed it. Hermione made her mind up to ask him about that later, when they returned from wherever they were at the moment. She assumed that the Marauders were somewhere out on the grounds, enjoying the little sunshine that peeked through the clouds. Or maybe they're off hiding somewhere in the castle, plotting another doomed prank, she thought wryly.

"Hot chocolate," Hermione told the Fat Lady once she reached it. There was that word again. What's with hot chocolate? she asked herself as the portrait swung open, and she climbed inside, one hand clutching the book tightly. A quick scan of the common room confirmed that she was part of the minority of students who preferred the cosy shade to the rough outdoors. She sauntered over to a medium-sized pouf and plopped down on it, curling her legs under her and flipping the book open to where she left off.

"Hey, I haven't seen you in a while," a voice said from somewhere above her several minutes later.

Hermione looked up, startled, and was attempting to locate the person who had spoken when a sudden increase in weight at the right side of the beanbag she was sitting on tipped it to the side. She lost her balance and almost ended up sprawled on the floor, but a pair of strong arms caught her in time.

Flushed, annoyed and ready to snap, she looked up into the intruder's face. Her eyebrows jumped when she realised that it was James, his wet, messy hair sticking to his forehead. He looked like he just had a shower--and Merlin, he really was devastatingly handsome. Before she could say anything, however, he righted her and settled himself more comfortably on the cushion beside her, still without letting go of his arm around her shoulders.

"Sorry about that," James apologised, grinning at her.

She tried to smile, hoping that the heat rising on her cheeks wasn't too obvious. "It's fine. What was that you said?"

"I said I haven't seen you in a while," James repeated.

Hermione rolled her eyes even though she enjoyed hearing those words. "You saw me just last night," she said, tracing the edges of the book with her fingertips.

James shrugged and somehow, the movement pulled her closer to him. He smelled like freshly mown grass and soap and damp earth--a very masculine combination that awakened all her senses. "Yeah, but not today." He glanced at the book she was holding and asked, "Are you busy?"

"That depends," she replied, "on what you have in mind." Hermione wondered what new idea had struck him now.

"Nothing spectacular, really. Just a walk around."

"Really," Hermione said, unconvinced.

To her surprise, James suddenly looked hesitant. "Well, I wanted to show you something--something important to me. But if you're occupied with something else--"

Hermione smiled weakly, feeling herself melt under his gaze. "No, it's fine. I'll go with you," she interrupted. "Just let me tuck this book upstairs and get my cloak. It'll take just a minute."

"Okay," James said, finally releasing her and allowing her to stand up. "One minute."

She was back in less than that, slightly breathless from running up and down the stairs. They walked to the portrait hole and departed the common room together, James assisting Hermione as she clambered out.

"By the way, you owe me," James said while they were waiting for the staircase to change.

"Owe you what?" Hermione asked, confused. "Peter mentioned something about a cup of hot chocolate a while ago, but then I might have been too sleepy to understand it correctly."

James's face broke into a grin. "No, you heard it right. You owe me a cup of hot chocolate."

"And how in the world did that happen?" she questioned, still not understanding what he meant.

He pushed his glasses up his nose before answering. "I got you a cup of hot chocolate last night, after my rounds," he explained, carefully watching for her reaction. There was none yet. "I thought a nightcap would help relax you, but you were already asleep when I returned."

The corners of her mouth turned up in approval, her dimple making another appearance. "I didn't know you had something planned. Otherwise, I would have waited."

James bit his lower lip. "No--uh--the idea just cropped up."

"That was very thoughtful of you, nevertheless," Hermione asserted, beaming at him. "Thank you, James. I'll try to make it up to you sometime."

Embarrassed, he replied, "It's enough that you're with me now."

The way things were going, Hermione felt like she could smile forever. It was better than anything she had ever dreamed about. She didn't say anything more until they were out on the grounds, where other students were also milling around in groups. Everybody was with somebody, and she couldn't be any luckier to be with him. The apples of her cheeks grew more prominent as her smile widened.

She didn't know that James was watching her with the same happy expression on his face and was surprised when he prompted, "What are you smiling about?"

Hermione let out a breath and said sheepishly, while nodding at the sky, "It's such a wonderful day. Not too hot, and not too cold either. Don't you think so?"

"If you say so," James answered lightly with a little laugh. He took Hermione's hand and steered her towards the path to the lake.

"Where are we really going, James?"

"You'll see," James said, continuing to lead her by the hand until they stopped under the shade of a beech tree near the lake.

Mesmerised, Hermione stared at the way the sun's rays glinted off the surface of the water, making it shimmer. She looked up and around her and recognised exactly where she was. "Oh, I remember Harry, Ron and I sitting right under this tree in third year--"

James had loosened his hold on her, his face frozen. "Harry and Ron?" he repeated. "Who are they?"

Realising her blunder, she licked her suddenly dry lips while she sued for time. "They were--are--my friends. We had a tree just like this--"

"From your old school?"

Hermione nodded, wondering why James's voice had become subdued.

"Just friends?" he reiterated softly.

She locked gazes with him and knew that this time, she would have to give him a less than truthful answer. "Yes."

His face visibly brightened afterwards. "Do they still owl you?"

A sad look crossed her face. "No, not anymore."

"Why not?" James demanded in shocked, his features darkening once more. "What kind of friends are they anyway?"

"I kind of left abruptly, James," she explained. "Maybe they never forgave me for it." Maybe they never will.

But real friends are supposed to understand no matter what. Nevertheless, James did not speak this thought aloud; instead, he smiled and squeezed her hand. "Never mind them. You still have us."

Hermione let out a small laugh. "Yeah, that's quite a consolation. So why are we here?" she asked, her eyes roving the place once more.

James swept his arm around and impressively pronounced, "This, Regina, is my personal space at Hogwarts."

"Personal space?"

"Yes. This is where I go to when I need some time for myself, some time to think. Even James Potter needs to be invisible sometimes," he finished with a wink, making Hermione giggle. He picked up a rock, withdrew his wand from his robes and Transfigured it to a small blanket, which he laid on the ground. He sat down and motioned for her to do the same. "I find this environment conducive for my musings. It's just so... so peaceful here, I feel like nothing can trouble me."

Hermione played with the blades of grass while pondering this new side of him that she was suddenly privy to. "I'm surprised you can still manage to keep some quiet even with the other Marauders around."

James frowned pensively. "They don't really know this place. Or maybe they know, but they don't come here. Not with me anyway." He tilted his head to one side as he looked tenderly at her, his heart hammering out of control. "You're the only person I've ever brought here." He inched closer and tucked a stray tendril of her hair behind one ear. "You're the only person I'd ever want to bring here."

His fingers travelled to under her chin, gently cupping it. For a moment, Hermione thought he was finally going to kiss her, and she almost closed her eyes in anticipation. After a few seconds of staring intensely at her, however, his hand slowly left her face and came to rest on the blanket, where it clenched a fistful of cloth. Disappointed, Hermione leaned back against the trunk of the tree and waited for him to speak again.

Silence passed comfortably between them for several minutes before James turned to her with a more casual expression on his face. "Did I tell you we have a game against Hufflepuff next Saturday?"

Hermione was jolted out of her thoughts at the sudden change in topic. "You just did," she replied dazedly.

James laughed at her remark. "It was why we resumed practice a while ago." He reached into his robes once more and this time took out a small golden ball with fluttering wings. He began playing with the Snitch before asking, "Do you like Quidditch?"

"As a spectator, yes," Hermione said. "Where did you get the Snitch?"

"Nicked it in fifth year," he said, a trace of a smirk on his handsome features. "Would you like to watch us during practice?"

She frowned slightly. "What am I supposed to do there, hanging around the stands?"

"A lot," James teased. "You can cheer for me, take pictures..."

Hermione laughed, their moment of intimacy almost forgotten. "You're so full of yourself, James Potter. What makes you think I'd rather watch you race around on a stupid broomstick than read a book?"

"Stupid broomstick, huh? One of these days you're going to change your mind about that." His grin widened. "Come on. Just once." He wouldn't let her say no to him, not after a plan had begun to take form inside his head.

"Fine, fine," Hermione consented, sighing in mock resignation. "But it'll have to wait until Friday."

James nodded cheerfully. "Friday's even better, actually."

"I'm going to bring a book, James, just in case I get bored," Hermione ribbed.

"Suit yourself," he answered nonchalantly. "You'll just end up ignoring it anyway."

They continued making fun of each other while watching the sun disappear into the horizon. The moment it had, however, Hermione exhaled in dissatisfaction. James turned to her curiously.

"What was that lonely sound for?"

She smiled wistfully. "People say green sparks always shoot out of the sky just before the sun sets. I was looking forward to experiencing it firsthand."

James watched the fading light dimly illuminate her thoughtful face. So lovely. Feeling a little braver now, he sealed the distance between them and wrapped his arm around her waist. She automatically leaned back against his chest, the sensation triggering a flurry of strong emotions inside him. When he spoke, it was with a voice low and intimate. "Really? Personally, I don't need fireworks to make this day special."

She felt like her heart would burst from so much love for this man. Was it really possible that he felt the same way about her? Hermione nervously reached for his other hand and tentatively intertwined her fingers with his before looking up at him. "Thanks," she whispered, her eyes unaccountably misty.

He sensed the question in her eyes, smiled--the most tender, most wonderful smile--and stroked her fingers reassuringly. With the warmth from her soft touch, the enchanting scent of vanilla that filled his nostrils and her body curled contentedly by his side, James was ready to ask time to freeze for eternity.

* * * * * * *

The week passed in a blur, in Hermione's opinion. She was with James almost every waking moment every day of the week, except when he went off to Quidditch practice in the afternoons. She, in turn, retreated to the solitude of the library during those hours, reading while unconsciously fiddling with the hourglass that hung around her neck. She left the library only when it was time for dinner, where she rejoined the Marauders in the Great Hall. James also left them afterwards for his nightly rounds with Lily--a fact Hermione had ceased to be jealous about since every time he returned to the common room, he always brought two cups of hot chocolate with him. He did that every night of the week except Tuesday, and Hermione realised that it had been due to the full moon. James had not offered her any explanation as to why the Marauders roamed out of hours during that time of the month, and she had not asked, despite wondering what help such rashness could give a friend in the middle of a werewolf transformation. Nevertheless, Hermione had learned to look forward to these nightcaps, when the two of them would just sit by the fire and drink and talk before saying goodnight. Not once, however, did James speak about anything that was going on between them--if there was any, of course.

Now it was Friday, and just like she had promised, she was sitting high upon the bleachers on the Quidditch pitch and attempting to read a book she had brought with her. James, however, had been correct in saying that she wouldn't find a moment to spare for it. Her attention had been spent on the Gryffindor team as they zoomed around in a blur of red and gold, slowing down only whenever James called for a huddle to discuss tactics or set new plays. It also didn't help that she couldn't keep her eyes off him gracefully riding the wind as though he possessed it. Even from thirty feet below, Hermione could hear him laugh; it seemed like he was at his happiest up there. Smiling to herself, she opened the book and half-heartedly started flipping through its pages.

After only an hour and a half of practice, the team coasted back down to the ground. She looked on in surprise as they gathered together one last time before heading to the locker room.

"See you later, Potter!" Hermione heard a younger boy, one of the Beaters, shout before running after the rest of his team mates. James waved at him before mounting his broom once more. She pretended to be absorbed in what she was reading while he flew towards her.

"Don't bother faking, Regina," James wisecracked when he was hovering in front of air.

Hermione looked up at him, an impish smile on her face, and closed the book. He could always see through her. "Why was practice today so short? It's still an hour before dinner."

"I wanted to have the pitch to myself. I was going to fly," James answered, messing up his hair and grinning as though he was enjoying a private joke.

"As if you aren't flying already," Hermione quipped. "Go ahead, then. I'll wait for you here," she added, returning her attention to the text in her hands.

James shook his head. "Not without you."

She dropped the book in surprise. "What--what do you mean?" she stammered.

"I want you to fly with me."

Memories of that night with him in her time flooded Hermione's mind; she was suddenly enveloped in a tingling, pleasant warmth and couldn't help but sigh in reminiscence. She nodded her assent. "Okay."

James himself appeared to be taken aback at her quick, positive response, judging from the crease between his brows. "Aren't you scared?"

She tossed her head back and laughed. "Why should I be scared? You're going to be with me, right?"

His face relaxed. "Right." He extended one hand to her; she shyly laid hers on it, showing her complete trust in him. James helped her up on his broom and wrapped his arms around her waist.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in fear as James kicked his feet off the ground. Her muscles tensed; she really couldn't deny her aversion to flying. He must've felt it, however, for he held her more tightly to him and whispered into her ear the same words she had heard before. "Just lean back against me, keep your grip on the handle and open your eyes. I'm with you, remember?"

She nodded and did as she was told, feeling him rest his lips on her tresses. She shivered despite the balmy afternoon.

Slowly and lazily, James manoeuvred his Nimbus around the towers of the castle, his other hand continually supporting her.

"Is this your first time up in the air?" he asked as they glided above the Astronomy Tower.

"Does it matter?"

James gave a small laugh. "No," he breathed into her hair. I don't care where you came from or who you were with before. It's me you're with now, and that's all that matters. He possessively fingered her brown curls and was aware of the tremors that coursed through her at his touch.

They soared higher and then slowed to a halt in a location prime for observing the dramatic day's end.

"Even without the green sparks, the sunset would still be beautiful," Hermione murmured spontaneously, her voice dreamy. "It brings about the night so that things concealed by the brightness of the sun may be revealed."

"You mean people share their secrets during the night?"

"Possibly," she replied softly. In her time, she had come to associate James with the night. He was the deepest, most desperate desire of her heart, rivalled only in mystery by the dark, and as unattainable as the only source of light that shone from above.

"I guess I should share one of mine with you then," James said as he guided the broom back to earth.

Hermione was glad he couldn't see the furious blush on her face. Was he finally going to say something about them, about how he felt about her? "Go on. What is it?"

"I--uh--" James cleared his throat. "I'm hungry," he finished determinedly. Her heart dropped in disappointment. "Let's get back to the castle. It must be time for dinner."

Why is he doing this to me, drawing me to him and yet careful not to let me get too close? What does he really want? Hermione was so lost in her dismal thoughts that she didn't notice where they had landed.

In spite of James assisting her off his broom, she stumbled over a boulder the moment her foot landed on the ground. Again, he was there to save her from her fall and to keep her stable. She looked around self-consciously and saw that they were under the--his--beech tree by the lake.

"You're quite uncoordinated, did you know?" James said amusedly.

She looked back at him, mild annoyance evident on her face. "That's why I don't play Quidditch," she replied haughtily, turning her face away.

James wasn't listening, intrigued by the blaze in her eyes that he seldom saw. That was just one of the many remarkable things about Regina: she was cloud and rock, fire and ice, sun and rain all the same time.

"Regina," he started, wanting so badly to tell her a lot of things but not knowing where to begin.

Hermione tilted her head to face him and stared into his eyes, her own darkened with hope and wariness. He was returning her gaze with so much intensity--so much undeclared passion--that she dared not breathe yet. Please, let this be it.

Her breath totally caught in her throat when he leaned towards her and touched his lips to hers. Tenderly, innocently. She closed her eyes, swept away on a wave of emotion. James withdrew a few millimetres from her, and her eyes fluttered open. He cupped her right cheek in his large hand and caressed it reverently.

"I love you, Regina Weisz."

His own words, husky with passion, shocked him. He had never claimed to be in love with anybody before, not even with Lily. He might not know much, but there was no mistaking this emotion he felt for and with her. He loved this incredible woman he was holding in his arms right now, and he fervently prayed she would want to stay there forever.

James glanced apprehensively at her. What he saw made him swallow hard, his knees almost buckling with relief. She was his, he knew it. The light of wonder and realisation in her eyes was more eloquent than any word she might have spoken.

A hint of a smile played on her lips. She stood on tiptoes, entwined her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. Regina Weisz. Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He doesn't even know my name. He told me he loved me, but he doesn't really know who I am. Somehow, though, it didn't matter anymore because he was hers now--that much was certain. He was finally hers.

The kiss ended, and Hermione felt like she had just awakened from one delicious dream only to slip into another as she traced her finger along the contours of his strong jaw. She had wanted to do this for so long.

"And I love you, James Potter."