The towpath and the streets were soaked, the sky a chilled shade of grey. The spire of the oratory at Ottery St Catchpole poked over the top of Stoatshead Hill in the distance, glinting from the hint of sun fighting to push through the scudding clouds. And it was quiet, a hushed Sunday morning. Nothing moved, a world in hibernation.

All except for two young wizards ambling along the side of the canal.

Ron Weasley was one of them. He would occasionally pick up a small stone to pitch into the still water, shattering the otherwise calm scene. Harry Potter, on his other side, would just as often reach up to snap off a twig from overhanging branches, fiddle with it for a while, before tossing it into the hedgerow. They walked slowly, in companiable silence, enjoying a life liberated of its familiar darkness.

For Lord Voldemort was dead, and the seemingly impossible task that had been their burden for so long, could now be confined to a distant memory. There was a life to be lived, a future now stretching out before them. And a lazy Sunday afternoon to be wasted before any of that became important.

"One day, we'll have to take a canal tour round the country," Ron mused as they walked. "You and me and Hermione. It'd be such a laugh."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Harry replied, scuffing his shoes along the dirt of the towpath. He really would, too, and the thought hitched a broad grin onto his face. "It's great, isn't it? To be able to dream of that. Would have to be a big boat, though...private cabins, you know."

Ron shifted awkwardly. "Yeah...enough for three."

Harry stopped walking. Ron didn't for a few paces, but Harry's sudden halt couldn't be ignored.

"What?" Ron asked, his expression reticent as he eventually turned.

"Well," said Harry. "I...I suppose I just thought...you and Hermione..."

"Me and Hermione what?"

"Well...you kissed each other," said Harry, confused. "I thought..."

"Best...best not to, mate," said Ron avoidantly. He started walking again, and Harry hurried to match stride.

"Has something happened?" Harry pressed.

"Yeah, but not what you're expecting," said Ron, fiddling with his jacket hem. "We...we talked about it. About the kiss."

"And?"

"And...we've agreed to...to leave it. Leave it at that."

Harry was surprised, shocked even. He'd suspected partiality between his best friends for the longest time, and it finally seemed to have developed. To learn that it hadn't was not in the script.

"But...I don't understand," said Harry. "I thought you liked each other."

"So did I, so did we," Ron blurted out. "And we do...just not in that way."

"But the kiss..."

"Was something that just happened, something we both thought should," Ron explained. "Bit weird, that. That we both thought it should. But when we did it, we both knew. Knew that we shouldn't have."

"Okay. I'm totally lost here, mate," said Harry. "Pretend I'm even dumber than I am. Then explain what's happened."

"Me and Hermione, well...kissed. You saw that," said Ron, his cheeks aflame. "I thought I wanted to kiss her, and she wanted to kiss me. So we did. But it was just...weird. And not weird as in we've-been-friends,-now-we're-going-to-be-more type thing. It was wrong. I might as well have snogged Ginny, or worse, Percy! That's what it felt like."

"Okay. That's an image I don't need burned into my retinas," said Harry, shuddering.

"Me neither!" Ron exclaimed. "But I felt like a total prick. I'd kissed Hermione! One of my best friends. But I knew right away it was a mistake. It felt perverse, and I didn't want it to go any further. But I was afraid of hurting Hermione's feelings. She'd only just started talking to me civilly after...you know...I ran out on you two."

Ron looked away, kicking a stone into the water as he flushed in shame. Harry didn't know what to say. Ron had been in the wrong, and they both knew it. They'd never properly discussed it, and Harry felt it might be churlish to be sympathetic and apologetic. Ron had to deal with his own guilt over the matter before it would ever be settled between them.

"But you said you and Hermione have talked, sorted it out?" Harry pressed. "Is she okay?"

Ron turned sharply, for Harry's suddenly protective tone had struck a chord with him. There was something of a grin in his eyes, but Harry didn't even notice it.

"Yeah, we had a chat," said Ron. "That is to say, Hermione cornered me and we had it out. Turns out she'd been exactly the same as me. We hadn't really spoken for a couple of days and she couldn't stand it any more, so we agreed that it was best to just shake hands and accept it for what it was. A bit of affection in the heat of the moment. We were all a bit strung out. She was as likely to kiss you as me. I was just closer."

Harry shifted at that. His brain hitched on the idea of Hermione kissing him, as he'd seen her do with Ron. It wasn't the first time lately, either. He'd never seen that side of Hermione, her feminine and sensual side, in such a physical display. The kiss looked nice, tender. It stirred a melancholy in Harry.

He wouldn't allow himself to be jealous of it. That was a minefield too fraught to ever navigate.

"Anyway," Ron went on. "I was going to ask you to have a chat with Hermione. She's worrying me."

"Worrying? How?"

Ron outright grinned at Harry's tone this time. It wasn't just concerned, it was borderline desperate. Ron wondered how much he could push this, it would certainly put his guilt at ease if his new scheme could play out. Those words from the Locket Horcrux had never really left his mind.

"All that you fear is also possible."

If only Ron had the vocabulary, or courage, to tell Harry that the Horcrux had been reading his heart as well as Ron's own. Harry's moreso, as it had rested close to that beating organ far more than anyone else's. Voldemort's voice in Ron's head had told him as much. These were more likely Harry's fears and desires, regarding their studious friend, than Ron's. He just wasn't sure how to tell Harry that.

Harry would just have to find out for himself.

"Hermione...she's been making weird noises...about leaving the Magical World," Ron went on. "Ginny told me she found some brochures in their bedroom. Prospectuses for Oxford and Cambridge. Dad tells me they are Muggle Universities, Harry."

"Yeah, the two best in England," said Harry. "Is...is Hermione thinking of applying?"

"Why else would she have brochures like that?" Ron asked sensibly. "I don't think she's coping all too well. It's hitting her now that the immediate threat is over. The horror of it all, you know...it's all coming back to her."

"Yeah...yeah I know how that feels," said Harry, who had suffered his own share of sleepless nights in the aftermath of defeating Voldemort. Taking his life didn't feel like it was supposed to. It wasn't glorious or satisfying. It left him hollow and listless. He spent his days largely alone, silent in his own thoughts. This, he reasoned, was why he hadn't noticed Hermione's turn in mood.

And he felt a cruddy type of friend as he considered this negligence now.

"Will you speak to her? Just to make sure she's okay," said Ron. "You're better with her when it comes to that sort of thing. I just trip over my words and forget what I'm supposed to say. But with you two...it's easy and natural."

Harry started at that. "Is it? I've not noticed that."

"Course it is," said Ron. "You've got each other's ear all the time. Good of you to be like that with her, don't think she gets much of an outlet anywhere else. And I don't know if you've noticed, but she's more sensitive that she lets on, our Hermione."

"Actually, I have noticed," said Harry. "She is our Hermione, as you say, after all."

"Yeah, of course you have," said Ron, nodding. "All that time alone in my Dad's old tent...only had each other for all those months, didn't you?"

Harry sucked in a breath. "I don't want to do this with you, Ron. Not yet, mate. But, yeah, we only did have each other."

"Must have made you close."

"We were always close...but where are you going with this?" Harry snapped, rounding on Ron. He'd touched a tender spot, it would seem.

"Nowhere," Ron backtracked. "I just wondered. Can't blame me, really."

"Wondered what, exactly?"

"Well...did anything happen back then? What went on with you two while I was gone?"

Harry came to a complete stop, the question throwing him for a loop. "Nothing went on! Why should it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ron quirked, lightly. "Two teenagers, all alone in a tent for months. Maybe you got lonely. Totally understandable, really. Hermione's a cute girl, in her own sort of way, and you...well, you're you. You're a jammy bastard, being a pin-up as you are. But that's not your fault. Not surprising if anything did go on, just for a bit of comfort."

"But nothing did go on!" Harry protested. "What makes you think it might have?"

"Just, well, the two of you are...I don't know...different," Ron persisted. "Both on your own, and especially together. We both know I'm not the best at reading signs, but something is off. Just thought it might be that. It's like your embarrassed or...maybe, rueful. I don't know. I'm rubbish at this stuff."

"Yeah, you are," Harry fired back. "'Cause nothing happened and me and Hermione are fine. Just fine."

"You're not fine," Ron argued. "Sorry, mate, but you're completely wrong about that."

"How can you say that?"

"It's obvious. Then there's my sister."

"Ginny? What about her?"

"Do I have another sister?" Ron chortled. "And yeah, she knows it too. We we talking about it the other night. I told her about me and Hermione, and she said it explains a lot of things."

"Like what?" asked Harry. He hadn't noticed quite how rapid his heart rate had become, nor how arid his mouth. He was thirsty for information, water could just do one.

"Like how Hermione has been looking so miserable," said Ron. "She must have been wondering how to let me down gently, too, as I was with her. But Ginny said that about you, as well. You know she looks at you a lot. She said you look lonely lately. And you do...but so does Hermione. She isn't right, mate, and Ginny put it neatly when she said she's not happy, but doesn't expect anything else, so she's used to it. I think that's worse, really. But I thought maybe you were both being unhappy for the same reason."

"You've got it all wrong, mate," Harry replied. He was anxious about Hermione, but keen to put Ron's nonsense to bed. "There's nothing gone on with me and Hermione. I'm worried about her now, though."

"And what about Ginny?"

"What about her?"

"You aren't getting back with her, are you?" Ron pushed, turning to look Harry firmly in the face.

Harry looked back and blinked. The visceral truth had been lain out there. A large part of him wanted to disagree, to rant and rave against the notion. But, if Harry was being bluntly honest with himself, that monster in his chest had been slain a long time ago, maybe somewhere in the Forest of Dean. Harry let its last remnant go with a heavy sadness, but it felt like a turning point. He, like Ron with Hermione, had felt duty-bound to pursue Ginny once the War was over. It seemed the honourable thing to do.

But here was Ron, giving his understanding and permission for Harry to let his sister go without recrimination. It eased Harry of this leaden burden, which was heavier than he realised now it was gone. And there was another blessing hidden in there to, but Harry was too dense to notice that.

"No," said Harry lowly. "No, I'm not."

Ron nodded and they started walking again. "She'll be okay, you know. Gin. She already knows. I don't know where she gets that perception from. Maybe being the first Weasley Witch in generations comes with its own form of magic. But she'll be alright, she's a tough old bird."

"Yeah, yeah I know she is," Harry puffed out.

"But Hermione is still a worry," said Ron. "And so are you."

"I'll be okay."

"Yeah, but when?" Ron pushed. "And how? You've got a lot to clean up in that fried brain of yours."

Harry wasn't insensible of his friend's concern, and it warmed him. But they'd never been comfortable discussing such things. For a few minutes they walked on in awkward silence, watching a colourful canal boat as it scutted by. Then Ron's eyes ignited as an idea erupted there. He stopped Harry and gripped his shoulder.

"That's it, mate!" Ron cried. "I've got it!"

"Got what? An virus for mental people?" Harry huffed. He tugged his arm free. "What's with the grabbing?"

"Oh, nevermind that," said Ron, dismissively. "Harry, why don't you take Hermione away for a few days? Get you both away from the magical world for a bit. Clear your heads. A bit of sea air, or something. It would do you good."

"I don't know," said Harry, doubtfully. The idea had its merits, but Hermione was unlikely to go for it. And Harry told Ron so.

"Hippogriff bollocks!" Ron decried. "Of course she will. Come on, Dad has a copy of the Yellow Parchments back at home. There must be somewhere you can go for a quick break."

Harry tried meekly to protest, but Ron was now a bundle of potential energy. He would brook no opposition. He veritably dragged Harry back to The Burrow, summoned his father and set him to task, while Harry was sent to locate Hermione with the proposal. On the way, he happened upon Ginny, who was hanging back as Ron's bluster infected the whole of the Weasley household. Ginny hitched a firm, but resigned, look onto her face as Harry approached her, unable to avoid the inevitable meeting.

"Ron's in a good mood," Ginny quirked. "What's got him so fervoured?"

"He...he thinks it might be a good idea if...if I take Hermione away for a little break. To clear our heads, you know?" Harry replied, somewhat mutely. "Thinks it might do us good."

Ginny laughed, a sad sort of chuckle. "That's oddly considerate of him. Is he ill?"

Harry smirked back, a light laugh barely leaving his throat. "Yeah, maybe."

They looked away from each other, painfully awkward a moment. Harry broke first.

"Look, Gin..."

She held up a hand to stop him. "Harry...you don't have to say it, really. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't. I know...but the words don't need to be said, do they?"

"No, maybe not," Harry mumbled. "I just want you to know...just want to say..."

"I do know. You wouldn't be you without that. I'll be okay, Harry, I really will. What we had was great, but I knew it wouldn't last. It was a dream, really. I didn't have any expectations when you came back, not serious ones anyway. You've been through some terrible stuff, stuff I've never shared with you. I couldn't ever take that place in your heart. There isn't room for two of us in there."

Harry's heart smacked into his ribs at that. What was that supposed to mean? He knew, of course, but he wasn't allowed to think that...was he? It was forbidden, he felt like he was looking at something illicit, but deliciously tempting.

And it took the floor from beneath his feet.

"I always knew it was her for you, Harry," Ginny sighed. "But you can't blame a girl for trying. Besides, not every girl gets to snog her fairytale prince. I can say that much, at least."

She stepped into Harry, and placed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It was the last time she'd ever be this close to him. It felt like a neutral zone now existed between them.

"Now, take her away and cheer her up," Ginny grinned. "'Cause she's been in high-dudgeon for days."

Then she went away. Leaving Harry to blink his thoughts into some sort of order.

Saturday

The heavy downpour had carved out rivers in the sand. It was the first time she'd stayed near the sea, but the pretty way the sun shimmered on the sodden beach thawed a layer of Hermione's resistance to this little trip. She had been complaining about it all week, but now they were here she was eager to be good company, for Harry was trying so hard. But her heart just couldn't settle to it. Her mind was everywhere and nowhere, a veritable trainwreck just now.

But she resolved to be better. For Harry really was trying hard for her.

She didn't know quite what that was in aid of, nor why it warmed her so much, but she was a fool if she didn't enjoy it. But she was cross, and miserable, and she couldn't work out why. That only made things worse, because she hated being faced with a seemingly unsolvable problem.

"Here you are, Earl Grey, hot," said Harry, stepping onto the verandah and handing Hermione a steaming mug of tea. "No sugar?"

"My parents wouldn't approve," Hermione smiled. "But thank you."

Harry smiled back and sat next to her. He had rented a little beach cabin overlooking the sweeping vista of Rhossilli Bay on the Gower Peninsula. It was a beautiful Bay, a World Heritage protected beach. This secluded cabin afforded a great view, had its own beach access and was utterly concealed by magic.

But this was the only magic Harry and Hermione were permitting. For they'd decided to go a whole week without.

"Have you made a decision about your parents?" asked Harry, tentatively, as he blew his tea to cool it.

"I have to find them," she replied, dourly. She looked out across the sea, as though trying to ponder the distance between herself and her absent relatives.

Harry went to reply, but closed his mouth quickly as he thought better of it. Hermione wasn't in a chatty mood. In fact, she didn't seem to want to talk at all. Ron had been right, and Harry was annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner.

Hermione, for her part, chastised herself. Harry had only been asking a civil question, showing concern. He didn't deserve her snapping at him. What was wrong with her?

"I'm sorry," she offered, apologetically. She turned her eyes away from Harry. Since when had conversation become so hard for them? And why? It was like talking to a memory.

"I'll help, if you need it," Harry mumbled.

Hermione cocked her head to her right. "You'd come all the way to Australia with me? Just to find my parents."

"I don't see the just at all," Harry argued. "They're your parents. And of course I'd come...if you wanted me to."

Hermione felt her heart stutter. What was that supposed to mean? Why wouldn't she want Harry to come, and what would make him think that? For the first time, Hermione saw this gap that had opened between them, and she was desperately anxious to close it, lest it become a chasm.

"We'd have to get international travel visas, inoculation shots - there are lots of bugs out there - that sort of thing. You wouldn't want to go through all that!"

Harry scoffed at the words. "It's a small price to pay, if it gets your Mum and Dad back. I'd like to meet them. I never really did."

"You'd...like to meet my parents?" Hermione hushed. Her breath joined her heart in the funny things it was doing. "Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry argued. "You're my best friend. Unless, of course, you've told them horror stories about me and would prefer if I didn't meet them!"

Harry's tone was jokey, but Hermione was uncomfortable. She felt exposed, as though something tender was on display.

"Don't be ridiculous," she fired back, more firmly than she meant. "Of course I have no problem with you meeting my parents. And to prove it, I will take you with me to find them. How do you like that?"

"Exceedingly well," Harry grinned, leaning back in his recliner and grinning over the rim of his tea cup. "I was only after an excuse for a holiday, you know. But you can't back out now. You promised."

"Harry," Hermione huffed good-naturedly. "You're such a goon."

"And proud of it," Harry smirked back. "How about, after tea, we take a stroll to the beach? There are some rock pools over on the far side. We could look for limpets."

Harry was looking so earnestly that Hermione couldn't have refused him even if she'd been against the idea. As it was, she found herself oddly drawn to the scheme. It actually sounded quite lovely.

"Yes, alright. I'd like that."

"Great!" Harry beamed. "Let me get my flip-flops."

He jumped up and moved back to the door to the cabin, but he stopped as did so. "You look really pretty in that sarong, did I tell you that yet? It suits you."

"No...no you didn't," Hermione replied, her deep blush thawing her further still. "But thank you, Harry."

He offered her a little smile quite unlike the ones he normally gave her. It ignited something in Hermione's chest, a fluttering that a swarm of butterflies would have been proud of. It stirred something else, too. Not quite a memory, nothing so distant as that. But this was an ephemeral something, like a sort of cosy warmth she'd forgotten about. She was keen to recall it more.

So as Harry led them down the set of little white wooden steps to the beach, she permitted herself to relax and enjoy the moment. Maybe it would coax back all that she had forgotten or shunned. She felt the understanding was close, on the periphery of her consciousness, but it was patient, as if waiting for her to call it back. It was in no rush, so Hermione took a breath and opened herself to possibility.

For the next few hours, she and Harry played around in the rock pools. He was alive with child-like innocence, and it brought a beautiful brightness to his visage. Hermione could only smile at it, keeping at arms length the dark reality that this was probably the first time Harry had been allowed to frolic at the seaside. That was an issue to file away and, for now, Hermione could just bask in the fact that she could be the one to share this pure joy with him.

And her alone.

Her heart skipped at that, did somersaults in her chest. There was a covetousness there that rendered her senseless. Since when had Harry's joy become her domain? She wondered wildly at that, vicious against any opposition her rationale threw up to it. It was in her power to make Harry happy, and it was a responsibility she relished. She wouldn't want to share it, or him, with anyone.

That thought hit her as hard as the stones Harry was skimming into the tide nearby. She watched him a moment, fierce heat rushing through her chest. She struggled for a clean breath, blinking as forbidden thoughts crept into the sides of her mind. This is what she had forgotten...the guilty pleasure of watching Harry. The last time it was as he lay languidly on his bunk back in Ron's old tent, half-asleep as they changed watch. His messy t-shirt had clung to his torso, riding up just a bit, revealing a tantalising sliver of flesh...

Hermione shook her head, much as she had back then, to drive the image, and the fire it pooled in her loins, as far away as she could. It was wrong then, to desire when the world was so dark...oh how she wished for the same excuse now!

And then Harry was stood facing her, talking, saying words. Hermione had forgotten the concept of language, but the sound roused her.

"Come on" Harry was saying. "I want to see how far you can skip a pebble. Careful, though, these rocks are slick with seaweed. Here..."

He was holding out his hand. Hermione reached out cautiously, slipping her dainty digits between his own. His skin was maddeningly soft! It sent a cascade of fresh flutters brushing lightly over her skin. He held her hand just so. It was tender and protective, firm yet gentle. And he smiled at her with something behind his eyes. It melted the last of Hermione's reticence and she smiled back, finally giving in.

She decided, right there, she'd prefer to be nowhere else on Earth than on this Welsh beach with Harry.

Sunday, again.

The little fire crackled in tune with the lapping waves, as Harry toasted anything he could poke onto the end of his little skewer. Marshmallows, teacakes, Danish pastries. He offered everything to Hermione first, and she shyly accepted until she felt full. Then they just lay at perpendicular angles, picking at the sand, counting the stars and sipping white wine from dainty champagne flutes.

Harry outright stared at Hermione. He couldn't help it. The light of Venus reflected in her eyes, bright and lovely as they were. Harry felt delinquent to be focused on her as he was. But she hadn't complained or told him to stop, so he assumed it was okay.

In fact, the way she smiled back was practically her permission to peep. So Harry did.

There was just that something in her pretty smile that bordered on the addictive. It wasn't the sort of look he was used to from her. But he liked it, as though it were a secret one just for him. He didn't know quite what to make of that, but as they lay on the sand, their heads so close, he was singularly keen to find out.

"So, Oxford or Cambridge?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?" Hermione replied, a little shaken by Harry's statement.

"You know full well," Harry quirked. "When were you going to tell me?"

Hermione blushed in the darkness. It was Harry's tone, his inference that he ought to be a factor in considerations Hermione made on her future...it restarted that tattoo under her ribs again.

"I haven't made a decision, so there's nothing to tell," Hermione replied after a moment.

"But you are thinking about it?" Harry pressed.

"I am. I don't know if I can return to Hogwarts just yet. It's all so raw. You must feel that?"

"I do," Harry nodded. "I just don't like the idea of you going away. I'd miss you terribly."

Hermione pulled her breath back in. Harry couldn't hear that, or know what it meant. But, then...he'd said it first.

"If I decide to go, you'll be the first to know," she puffed out. "I'd miss you, too. I'd have to keep in touch with you."

"Yes, do that," Harry smiled at her. "Whatever happens, we need to stay in touch."

They sipped their wine, and watched the fire crackle between them.

Monday

Hermione had cooked that night, a meal of sea bass and steamed vegetables, with Lava Bread - a local delicacy made with seaweed - on the side. Then she and Harry rolled onto the verandah to let it go down, with a platter of fruit between them. The rain had returned, but it was actually quite lovely to be sat there, listening to the tap-tap-tap of the pattering rain on the balcony roof, and looking out across the Bay to the ripples of the moon-reflecting, sea-bobbing sea.

They took turns picking at the platter, guessing the fruit they were eating. Harry was winning, and Hermione grew cross at that, convinced as she was that he was cheating somehow.

"You looked!" Hermione cried in protest, as Harry correctly guessed that he'd picked up a slice of watermelon.

"I did not look," Harry returned, well aware that he had, in fact, looked. But Hermione was distractingly cute when she was cross. And Harry was keen for her to be as cute as she could be as often as he could cause it.

"Alright, let's prove it," Hermione huffed. "I'll pick your fruit, then we'll see how good you are."

"You're on!" Harry laughed. He closed his eyes and opened his hand. But nothing was placed in it.

"Oh, no you don't, slick!" Hermione coughed. "You can tell with your hands what it is. Open your mouth."

"My what?" Harry replied in a breath.

"Your mouth, dummy," Hermione laughed. "What else do you eat with? Come on...open up and I'll pop the fruit in. See if you are as good as you claim."

Harry did as he was told and Hermione reached towards the silver platter. Her fingers trembled on the way, now why had that happened? She took her time selecting, settling in the end on a juicy cherry. She lifted it slowly towards Harry's face, her eyes lingering a moment on his lips. They looked plump, soft. Hermione was morbidly fascinated by what they would feel like. She would know soon enough, and she licked her own dry lips in anticipation.

Then the fruit passed into Harry's mouth. He slowly, deliberately wrapped his tongue around the cherry and Hermione was drawn to the momentary flash of pink as he did so. There was a trail of moisture there, and Hermione wondered what that would taste like. She snapped her mind back from the Moon, just as Harry closed his lips... right over Hermione's fingertips.

For ten seconds, they were held frozen in time. Harry still had his eyes closed. Hermione's heart had grown bored of her chest and decided it now preferred to beat in the back of her throat. How she was supposed to breathe, she didn't know. Maybe she'd have to develop a set of gills or something, for she had an odd sensation of drowning.

Then Harry opened his eyes, and kissed his lips away from her fingers.

"Cherry...good choice. But I still win."

Oh..he did...if only he knew how much.

Tuesday

The air was particularly salty that night, as Harry and Hermione strolled in the surf. The rain had eased off, the tide was coming in slowly, and the beach was deserted. Soft white foam rolled over their bare feet, tickling them as the sand rushed through their toes. A crescent moon danced on the wave peaks, as distant music whispered on a soft breeze.

Hermione was chewing on a liquorice wand. It broke their 'no-magic' rule, but Harry was drawn to the action of her pursed lips, the pout they formed around the strawberry lance. It was enough to forgive a far greater indiscretion than Hermione's petty crime. Harry tried not to look too often, for Hermione had already caught him doing it around six times. Each time drew a cutesy little smile from her eyes, erupting with fire and meaning, a message that Harry was just now starting to decode.

The seventh time would be an event that he would play back again and again.

Harry had lost track of the time and direction. He'd been watching Hermione kick her dainty feet in and out of the surf and the time, like the tide, just came and went. He watched the hem of her white cotton dress ride up her ankles with each swipe of her legs, like it was marking the passing moments. They walked up from the beach, onto an old pier that ran right out into the spray of the sea. There were no other sounds, just the light hiss of the mist against the jetty.

Then Hermione slipped her hand into Harry's, without asking, without looking at him, with no form of preamble at all. They eased out to the end of the pier and Harry snatched a look at her face, shining like the lighthouse overhead. The rain was coming again, it was moist on the air, and the drizzle clung in little droplets to the rings of Hermione's hair.

And she took another slow bite of her wand. And Harry watched every inch of the movement.

"Would you like some?" Hermione asked breathlessly, offering the confectionery to him. "It's really quite good."

"No, I'm good thanks."

"Then why do you keep looking at it?"

Hermione blinked pointedly and stepped closer to Harry on impulse.

"I'm not," said Harry.

"Well...you're either looking at my wand...or you're looking at my lips," Hermione swooned. "Which is it?"

Harry closed the little distance there was between them, feeling the mass of Hermione's breasts press firmly into his chest.

"I wont lie...I was wondering about the taste," Harry muttered, angling his head down.

Hermione leant up, adjusting her head to capture Harry's lips with her own.

The taste? Salt water, fruity candy. With just a dash of passion.

Wednesday

Wednesday morning snuck in through the window. Harry and Hermione just lay together, entangled, sweaty, her head on his naked chest, his fingers drawing patterns on the soft skin between her shoulders.

And they just listened to to the waves come and go.

By Thursday they had no secrets, they knew everything about each other.

And by Friday they decided never to be apart again.

End