Disclaimer: Haha. Right. Sorry, but my clever mind wasn't quick enough to come up with Harry Potter first.

Summary: It's the night before Harry has to face his fate. Kill or be killed. It's the night Hermione finally shows Harry that he's not alone. Always beside him. It's the first night of thousands more to come. Timeless love. Rated R for sexual content. One-shot (in other words, you're more than welcome to ask for more, but you won't be getting it).

One Thousand and One Nights

He was sitting on the common-room couch across from her, leaning over, his elbows resting on his knees. Messy locks of hair obscured his emerald eyes, staring into a void only seen by him. He was cut off from everyone and everything around him, his quiet presence almost completely suppressed. Though he hadn't said anything to her, she knew the time of the end was drawing ever closer. Perhaps, she'd wake up tomorrow to find her best friend gone? What would she do? At that moment, she made a decision; she'd finally tell him . . . tonight. She had to. She couldn't bear the though of him dying before being given her chance to confess.

She stood suddenly and rushed toward him, startling him from his contemplative state. Without saying a word, she grabbed his hand and dragged him through the portrait hole and down the corridor to their head dorms. He didn't even question what she was doing, and inside, she felt somewhat flattered that he trusted her so much, that he just knew she needed him at that moment and didn't fight her about it.

She led him into his room, and told him to have a seat on his bed. Still as quiet as ever, he obeyed and waited patiently for her to say what she so desperately needed to say. She began pacing, unsure of how to word her thoughts, or if she was even doing the right thing. She almost gave up and was about to tell him to forget it, but then she remembered why it was she'd decided to be so rash and hardened her resolve. She had to tell him.

"Harry, do you trust me?"

He looked startled by her inquiry, as though he thought she'd gone mad. "Hermione, you know I do." She, of course, already knew this answer, but the small feeling of doubt that came from her own lack of self-worth forced the words from her lips and was glad to hear his answer nonetheless.

"Then, can I ask you to do something without question? Just trust me?" She was wringing her hands in nervousness. She still couldn't believe what she was about to do. He only nodded at her and waited for her to continue. "Close your eyes." He did so without hesitation. "Don't open them until I tell you, got it?" He nodded. "Do I have your word?" Again, he nodded.

Very slowly she made her way toward him, first removing his glasses, then carefully getting onto the bed and straddling his legs so she was positioned facing him. His eyes shot open at the contact, but quickly closed again after she reminded him of his promise. She was shaking, so tempted to turn back; it wasn't too late yet. But she couldn't. She had to tell him, had to know if there could ever be more for them.

She brushed her fingers across his cheek, running them into his wild hair. She leaned closer until she could feel his breath against her skin, noticing the increased speed. Her body was trembling, so scared of ruining everything they had . . . so scared of rejection. Even with his eyes closed, he must have noticed her quivering form because, before she could move any closer, his arms reached up behind her, one wrapping around her waist to run along her back, the other entwining itself in her hair. He didn't push her either way, just let his fingers roam over her features, slowly, as if to comfort her, as if he knew what she was planning to do and letting her know that it was all right and that she needn't be afraid.

His touch moved from her hair, down along her neck and back up to trace the contours of her face. His fingers lightly grazed against her lips before pulling away to take her hand, bringing it up to kiss her palm. It was with that small gesture, so sweet and so comforting, that she knew; she knew he wouldn't turn her away. In that instant all her doubts were left to the darkness that had clouded her mind earlier. She wrapped her arms around him, pushing her body against his, a sudden need to feel closer to him taking over. His arms held her tightly as they fell back into the scarlet comforter, her lips finally connecting with his in a rush of emotion at last being let loose after so long.

He rolled them over, his body poised between her legs. She had died; she was sure of it: died and gone to heaven. His lips were slightly rough and oh-so-sweet. She vaguely wondered if he'd had chocolate earlier, but found she really didn't care the moment she felt his tongue against hers. She was sure her body was still shaking after that, not from nervousness now, but from being completely overwhelmed by him. His touch was everywhere driving her to the brink of insanity, sending chills through her with each movement. She could fell him becoming more impatient with time, his kisses becoming more desperate.

It wasn't until the need for oxygen became an issue that he finally slowed their kiss to pull away slightly. "Am I allowed to open my eyes yet?"

In her daze, her voice failed her, and she managed a small nod before realizing he couldn't see her movement; instead, she forced the word out, "Yes."

Brilliant green eyes locked with hers, glowing with mischief. "How long have you wanted to do that?"

"Too long."

He smiled at her reply. "Why haven't you done it before?"

She found herself staring at the face of the man she'd come to care for so much over the years in a state she'd never witnessed before. His hair was even more tousled than after a quidditch match, his lips swollen and cheeks slightly flushed. His eyes sparkled like they used to before he'd been put through hell ten times over. He seemed so much more vulnerable, and an overpowering need to protect him washed over her. She could remember all the terrifying things that they'd been through, and it ripped her apart to know that there was one more burden he had yet to face before the end: a burden she couldn't be with him to help face, not physically. Her grip on him tightened; she didn't want to give him up!

"Hermione?"

"I was scared. Still am."

"Of what?"

"Ruining everything . . . losing you."

"Never going to happen. We're too close for that."

"Losing you to the war," she continued. Her voice was low and became hoarse as she tried not to let the tears escape. She knew she'd have to give him up after that night; she just wasn't sure how to.

His eyes lost their shine and his smile faded. "Is that why you chose tonight? Because you were afraid it might be the last?" He took her silence to mean "yes."

He rolled off of her, settling on his back beside her with his arms crossed beneath his head, staring at the canopy above.

"Harry?" she asked. He didn't answer. She sat up to get a better view of his expression, wondering if she'd messed everything up already. "Are you mad at me now? Harry?" she pleaded.

He turned to her yet still remained silent. His eyes that had hardened became soft again from seeing her worried face. "No, I'm not mad at you." She couldn't help but let a stray tear fall, relieved to know she still had a chance to fix things. He sighed reaching to brush a strand of loose hair behind her ear and wipe away the tear. His eyes closed briefly, and for an instant, she could see how tired the war had truly made him. "It's just not fair."

"Not fair?"

He smiled ruefully. "We finally get the chance to be together and it might be our last. Tends to put a damper on things."

"I'm sorry, Harry, it's just that before I was so sca—" He placed a finger over her lips before she could finish.

"Shh. It's all right. It's not your fault. You got farther than I did at any rate." He placed a soft kiss to her forehead before falling back on the bed again. Hermione curled up against him, laying her head over his heart. She breathed in his scent, a mix between pine and something she couldn't quite place but knew was all his own. She absentmindedly ran her hands across his chest. At first she did it just to calm her own nerves but soon noticed that his heart rate sped up every time her nails dragged below his navel. Despite the situation, wicked images crossed her mind at the thought that she could entice him in such a way. While being held by him was indeed nice, very comforting, it wasn't enough at the moment.

Her impulsiveness returned to her, and she moved out of his arms and above him, straddling him once more. She couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face at his surprise. Her hands ran the length of his body, pushing his shirt up inch by inch with each pass, her desire for him renewed with each glimpse of skin.

"Hermi—"

She shut him up quickly with her mouth pressed to his, nipping at his bottom lip and pushing her tongue past his teeth to mingle with his own. Her hands continued their previous activities, and when she'd finally pushed his shirt up as far as she could, she broke their kiss, pulling the offending cloth away and attaching her lips to his neck. She found a particularly sensitive spot near his collar that made him give out a guttural moan, which only made her smile grow wider and her need stronger. She loved the noises he made as she kissed her way down his chest. Feeling a bit daring, she ran her hands down below his belt to the front of his jeans and earned a shout of, "Fuck, Hermione!"

"That is the idea, Harry," she teased. Her laughter rang through the room at the look on his face before returning her lips to his. She needed to feel more of him! Their contact wasn't nearly enough. Her hips pushed against his in time to their tongues, needing to quench her hunger. He was becoming more active with each passing minute; the only warning she got before her world reversed was a soft growl as Harry flipped them both over, continuing the rhythm she'd started while holding her wrists above her in his left hand to keep them from wandering as they'd done before.

He trailed hot kisses along her neck, slowly, torturously, unbuttoning her shirt as he went. Her blouse lay open at her sides, and he stopped for a moment, just staring. Finally, she felt his touch run over her skin ever so lightly . . . almost too lightly. A thought flashed through her mind. "Harry, have you ever done this before?"

"Done what exactly?" he asked distractedly as he continued to run his fingers over her exposed skin in a feather-like caress.

"Done any of this."

"I've kissed a girl before, if that's what you mean, but no, I haven't had sex. Not in the immediate sense anyway . . ."

She wasn't quite sure what that last bit was supposed to mean, and she didn't think she wanted to know so she ignored it. "Have you ever touched a woman like this before?" she asked, releasing one of her wrists to take his hand and press it into her breast.

"A few times," he whispered, his voice hoarse in her ear. "Why? Are you worried I won't be able to please you?"

"N-No." He chose that moment to flick his thumb over her nipple, causing her to forget her words for a moment. "I was — I was just curious."

"I'm sure if I do anything wrong, you'll correct me, so I have nothing to worry about. Either way, I'll make you come." His voice sent shivers down her spine at the prospect.

His momentary arrest ebbed away, and his vigor returned as he pushed aside the fabric of her bra, not bothering with the fastening. His mouth replaced the hand that had been so attentive to her needs, swirling his tongue around the center and nipping slightly. Her free hand found its way into his hair, pushing his head closer to her as he continued his ministrations, making her release a small moan.

As he continued to suck on her, his right hand made its way up her leg, trailing slightly along her inner thigh before hiking her skirt up farther to gain better access. She could feel him smiling against her skin as she let loose another scream of pleasure when his roaming hand found her core, stroking against the thin scrap of fabric that she was currently cursing the existence of.

He pulled his mouth away from her to place a small kiss over one of her eye lids and whispered, "Do you want to keep going?"

Was he insane? Did he really need to ask? She knew he was doing it just to torture her, and a part of her loved it, while the more desperate side of her was cursing him for even thinking it. Still, she nodded, being unable to do anything else; she'd die if he stopped now.

His hand pushed aside the bothersome garment, and dipped a finger into her. Slowly he pulled back out, dipping another to replace the first. She wanted to scream at him for taking his time, but it felt so good. Plunging both fingers into her, she couldn't withhold another cry. Pain and pleasure mixed together as he continued his attention. All she could think was more, she needed more.

"More?" he asked, his voice holding a touch of amusement underneath the lust. Had she really said that out loud for him to hear? She didn't care, as long as he gave her what she wanted.

He roughly kissed her swollen lips and dragged his mouth down her body, pulling down the waist of her skirt only slightly to give her a small kiss below her navel, causing her breath to hitch. He pulled his fingers away from her, causing her to growl in frustration at the lack of contact. He slid both his hands up her legs, along her thighs, and up to remove the rest of her clothing. She lay before him, completely exposed. His eyes darkened, staring into hers, seeing everything she had to offer. "You're beautiful."

Her heart was pounding, mind racing. He'd seen all of her, and he'd said the thing she'd rarely ever heard. She'd been called smart, brilliant, brave, a good friend, and every now and then someone might say she was pretty, but she couldn't remember being called beautiful . . . until now. Merlin, she loved this man.

He rose up to give her one last kiss before continuing his previous actions. His second hand grazing her skin as he traveled back down her body and placed a kiss on the inside of her leg. Working his way up, his tongue finally found her center, making her head spin with the increased pleasure. Nothing else mattered at that moment: nothing but him and what he was doing to her. She couldn't think; all was black and sound ceased to exist. Her body shook with the overwhelming sensation as she felt the screams rip through her throat.

When the world finally came back to her, the first image to cross her eyes was Harry's smug face. "I told you I'd make you come." She could do nothing more but whimper at him.

He came up beside her to give her time to come down, slowly running his hands over her, reminding her they weren't done yet. Moments passed, in which she found herself wanting him again; only this time, she'd have all of him.

Anxious fingers found his belt, undoing it along with his jeans. She rubbed her hand along the front, forcing him to tilt his head back in pleasure. He quickly rid himself of the cumbersome materials to allow her full access to him. With each stroke she could feel him harden more, hear his pants increase in speed. He had to stop her from continuing, though; he was too close.

With one last look into her eyes, almost as if he expected her to stop him, he buried himself in her. Pain ripped through her, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist to hold him still. The sensation was strange to her, but it felt right, like he belonged with her, joined with her. She marveled in the new feeling of being whole. She could have stayed like that for ages, but she realized that he seemed to be struggling, his eyes pleading for her to let him move. She loosened her hold on him, allowing him to pull back only to slam into her once more.

His mouth found hers, their tongues intertwining with each other, thrusting to the rhythm of their hips. Their breaths became shorter with each stroke. Over and over, they joined and pulled away. Eventually the pleasure became so all-encompassing, it took all their attention; their kisses slowed to a stop, lips still joined but unmoving as they continued. It seemed like an eternity, each one so close to finishing but trying so hard to hold on, not wanting it all to be over yet.

She fell first with Harry just behind her. His body came crashing down on hers, the weight suffocating but exhilarating, and she never wanted him to move. They lay together, exhaustion catching up with them as dreams took them away all too soon.

The morning sunlight crept along the floor until finally reaching Hermione's lidded eyes. It was a few moments before she woke, her mind dazed for a moment at her strange surroundings. The night before came rushing to her thoughts in a blur, and she turned over calling her lover's name. She spoke to an empty room.

The loneliness gripped her like a vise around her heart. He was gone. He was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. He hadn't even said goodbye. She never got to say goodbye! Tears streamed down her face. Anger was building up in her as she kept asking herself why things had to be the way they were. Why was Voldemort even born in the first place? Her fist connected with the pillow beside her. Why was Harry the one who had to deal with everything? She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Her body collapsed completely into the bed, as sobs racked her body.

That night had been the best of her life; she wished again and again to have a thousand more just like it, but she doubted that could ever be. She wasn't even sure she'd see him again, and after all that, she hadn't even told him. She'd shown him, yes, many times, but she never actually got the words out. She hoped she wouldn't regret never telling him that night, prayed that she'd be given another chance.

It wasn't until later that week when he'd shown up battered and bruised at breakfast that she knew she would finally be given her second chance to tell him how much she loved him . . . and with rushed kisses and whispered words, she did just that.

-Finis-

Author's Note: I really have no clue where this story came from. It's not even what you would really call "original." I just sat down and started writing. It was like one of those moments when a writer just starts typing, and it feels like someone else is writing instead, almost like the story is writing itself, literally . . . I guess that's what you'd call a Muse. Anyway, here it is: my first R-rated fic ever — and I mean ever. I've never even written a little side story that crossed over the PG-13 line before. Hopefully, I didn't do too horribly. So what do you all think? Give me some feedback; it's the only way I'll improve my writing.

Thanks to any reviewers and to my ever-lovely beta.