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Harry's world narrowed to nothing but Hermione's lips against his, her taste intoxicating—honey and mint from her evening tea. His enhanced senses magnified every detail: the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath his fingertips, the subtle changes in her breathing as their kisses deepened, the faint vanilla scent of her shampoo mingling with something more primal that his lycanthropic senses recognized as desire.
"Harry," she whispered against his mouth, her voice trembling slightly as her fingers tangled in his hair.
The feeling of her body pressed against his was overwhelming. His heightened sensitivity made each point of contact feel like electricity coursing through him. He could hear the soft rustle of fabric as her shirt rode up slightly, feel the heat radiating from her skin.
"I've wanted this for so long," Harry admitted, his voice rough with emotion as he trailed kisses along her jawline. "I just never thought—"
"I know," Hermione interrupted, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes were dark, pupils dilated with desire. "Me too. But we're here now."
Their lips met again, more urgent this time. Harry's hands moved to her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto his lap. The action seemed to surprise them both—a reminder of his new strength.
"Sorry," he murmured, worried he'd been too forward.
Hermione's response was to shift her position, straddling him properly as her hands cupped his face. "Don't apologize. I like it."
The new position brought them closer, the friction between their bodies igniting something primal in Harry. A low growl escaped his throat—a sound he'd never made before his transformation. He started to pull back, embarrassed, but Hermione's response was immediate and unexpected.
"Oh!" she gasped, her body arching against his.
Harry felt a surge of confidence. "You like that too?"
"Apparently," she breathed, looking somewhat surprised at herself. "This is all very... educational."
Even in this moment, she was still his Hermione—analytical and adorably academic. Harry couldn't help but laugh softly, his affection for her swelling alongside his desire.
"Always the student," he teased, nipping gently at her earlobe.
A soft moan escaped her, louder than before. They both froze, suddenly remembering their location.
"Someone might hear," Harry whispered, his enhanced hearing automatically scanning the house. He could detect seven distinct breathing patterns upstairs—all in the slow rhythm of sleep. "They're all asleep, but still..."
Hermione glanced toward the stairs, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. "The kitchen? Door's thicker."
Harry nodded, standing smoothly with Hermione still wrapped around him. Her legs tightened around his waist as he carried her, both of them trying to stifle giggles at the absurdity of sneaking around like this.
In the kitchen, Harry set her gently on the counter, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminating her flushed face. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the reality of what they were doing settling over them.
She reached for the bottom of her nightshirt, hesitating only briefly before pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. The moonlight painted her skin in silver, highlighting the gentle curves of her body. She was beautiful—not in the conventional way he'd been taught to appreciate from magazines or movies, but in a way that was uniquely Hermione. Real. Perfect.
"You're staring," she whispered, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
"You're stunning," he replied simply, truthfully.
His hands moved to her waist, skin against skin now. The contact was electric, sending shivers down his spine. As his thumbs traced small circles on her hipbones, Hermione reached for the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it upward.
"Fair is fair," she murmured.
Harry helped her remove it, suddenly self-conscious about the changes in his body. The transformation had left him more defined, his chest and arms more muscular than before. The scars from Lupin's attack were still visible—three pale lines across his torso.
Hermione's fingers traced them gently. "Do they hurt?"
"Not anymore," Harry said, his voice husky as her touch sent sparks across his skin.
Their bodies came together again, the sensation of skin against skin overwhelming Harry's enhanced senses. Every touch was magnified—her fingers trailing down his back, her lips against his neck, the soft sounds she made as his hands explored her body.
Time seemed to blur as they discovered each other. Clothing was discarded piece by piece until there was nothing between them but moonlight and shared breath. Harry had never seen anything as beautiful as Hermione in that moment—vulnerable yet strong, her eyes never leaving his.
When Hermione pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist again, Harry felt a moment of clarity amidst the desire. This wasn't just physical attraction—it was Hermione, his best friend, the person who knew him better than anyone. The person he trusted completely.
"Harry," she moaned as he pressed against her, the sound sending a shiver through him.
"Shh," he reminded her gently, pressing his lips to hers to muffle the sound. "They're going to hear us."
She nodded, biting her lip as Harry moved with agonizing slowness, every nerve ending on fire. The sensation was beyond anything he'd imagined—his enhanced sensitivity making each movement exquisite torture.
Hermione's fingernails dug into his shoulders, her eyes widening. "Oh," she breathed, a mixture of surprise and pleasure in her expression.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked, concern momentarily overriding desire.
"Don't stop," she whispered urgently. "Please don't stop."
The moonlight played across their bodies as they found their rhythm together. Harry felt consumed by sensation—the taste of her skin, the sound of her heartbeat, the scent of their mingling desire. His lycanthropic senses elevated every moment, making him hyperaware of Hermione's responses, allowing him to adjust to please her better.
Their movements became more urgent, Hermione's breath coming in short gasps against his neck. Harry felt something building within him, a tension that bordered on unbearable.
"Harry," Hermione whispered, her voice breaking. "I—I think I'm—"
Her words dissolved into a muffled cry against his shoulder as her body tensed, trembling against him. The sensation of her pleasure pushed Harry over the edge, his vision blurring as waves of ecstasy crashed through him.
For several long moments, they remained entwined, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together. Harry felt a profound connection that transcended the physical—like a piece of his soul had recognized a matching piece in Hermione.
Reality crashed back upon them like a bucket of cold water. The kitchen countertop suddenly felt hard and uncomfortable beneath them, the moonlight that had seemed romantic moments ago now felt exposing. Harry gently helped Hermione down, both of them avoiding eye contact as they hastily collected their scattered clothing.
The comfortable silence they'd always shared had transformed into something weighty and awkward. Harry pulled his t-shirt over his head, sneaking glances at Hermione as she dressed. Her movements were hurried, almost clinical, and the expression on her face sent a chill through him. Where moments ago there had been passion and connection, now he saw furrowed brows and a tight-lipped frown.
She regrets it, Harry thought, his stomach plummeting. Of course she does. What was I thinking?
Hermione tugged her nightshirt into place, then crossed her arms over her chest as if creating a barrier between them. She stared fixedly at a point somewhere beyond his left shoulder.
"So," she finally said, her voice unnaturally high, "that happened."
Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, making it stand up even more wildly. "Yeah. It did."
Another excruciating silence stretched between them. Harry desperately searched for something to say that wouldn't make things worse, but his mind had gone blank. Every possible opening line sounded ridiculous in his head.
"We should probably get back to bed," Hermione finally said, glancing nervously toward the stairs. "Separately, I mean. To our own beds. Obviously."
"Right. Separately. Obviously," Harry echoed, wincing at how robotic he sounded. "Hermione, about what just happened—"
"We shouldn't talk about this now," she interrupted quickly, finally meeting his eyes. The conflict in her expression was unmistakable. "It's late, and anyone could wake up."
"But—"
"Please, Harry." Her voice softened. "Not now."
She can't even bear to discuss it, Harry thought miserably. That's how much she wishes it hadn't happened.
"No one can know about this," Hermione added in a whisper, confirming his fears. "It would make everything so complicated."
Harry nodded stiffly, his throat suddenly tight. "Our secret."
"Thank you," she said, relief evident in her voice. She hesitated, then brushed a feather-light kiss against his cheek. "Goodnight, Harry."
Before he could respond, she was gone, her footsteps impossibly quiet on the stairs. Harry remained frozen in the kitchen, listening to her ascend. His enhanced hearing tracked her progress all the way to Ginny's room, the soft click of the door closing feeling somehow final.
Well done, Potter, he thought bitterly. You've really outdone yourself this time.
Four years of friendship were potentially ruined in a single night of impulsivity. What had he been thinking? This was Hermione—his best friend, his anchor, the most important person in his life besides Ron. And he'd risked all that for what? A moment of passion?
Harry sank into a kitchen chair, head in his hands. The physical satisfaction of their encounter had faded, leaving behind a hollow ache in his chest. He'd never felt so close to someone in his life, only to have them pull away immediately after.
She couldn't get away from me fast enough, he realized. And honestly, who could blame her?
With a heavy sigh, he finally forced himself to stand. Morning would come whether he was ready for it or not.
Morning
Harry descended the stairs the following morning with leaden feet, having spent most of the night staring at Ron's ceiling. The smell of sizzling bacon and freshly baked bread that would normally have made his mouth water now turned his stomach into a churning mess of anxiety.
He paused at the kitchen doorway, immediately scanning the room. The Weasley clan was in full breakfast mode. And there, sitting between Ginny and Percy, was Hermione. She was focusing intently on buttering her toast, as if it required the same concentration as a particularly complex transfiguration spell.
Harry slipped into the only available seat, unfortunately positioned directly across from Fred and George, with Ron to his right and Charlie to his left. As far from Hermione as the table geometry would allow.
"Morning, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley called cheerfully. "Sleep well, dear?"
Harry nearly choked on air. "Fine, thanks," he managed, pointedly not looking in Hermione's direction. He could feel her tension from across the table.
"You sure?" Fred asked, eyebrows raised. "You look like you've been wrestling garden gnomes all night."
"Or something equally... physical," George added with an innocent smile that wasn't innocent at all.
Harry's heart skipped a beat. They couldn't possibly know, could they? He risked a glance at Hermione, who had gone very still, her knife suspended over her toast.
"Just had trouble sleeping," Harry muttered, piling food onto his plate without any real intention of eating it. "Full moon's coming up, you know."
"Ah, the lupine lifestyle," Charlie nodded sympathetically. "That'll do it."
Ron, mouth already full of scrambled eggs, nudged Harry. "Oi, Dad says our World Cup tickets should be confirmed today. Top Box seats! Can you believe it? Best view in the stadium!"
Harry seized on the topic gratefully. "Brilliant! Who's playing again?"
"Ireland versus Bulgaria," Ron replied enthusiastically, launching into a detailed analysis of each team's strengths and weaknesses.
Harry nodded along, pretending to listen while actually monitoring everyone at the table. Mr. Weasley was hidden behind the Daily Prophet. Bill was charming a teaspoon to stir his coffee without touching it. Percy was droning on about cauldron bottom regulations to a thoroughly disinterested Charlie. Nothing unusual—no knowing glances, no suggestive comments beyond the twins' normal teasing.
"—and Viktor Krum is the best Seeker in the world right now," Ron was saying. "His Wronski Feint is legendary—"
"Right then!" Mrs. Weasley announced. "Chores for the day. Ron and Harry, you'll be de-gnoming the garden again—those little pests are relentless. Fred and George, the chicken coop needs cleaning. No magic, mind you! Hermione, dear, would you help me with the laundry? And Ginny, you're on vegetable duty in the garden after you've finished breakfast."
Harry almost sighed in relief. Mrs. Weasley had unwittingly given him exactly what he needed—distance from Hermione and time to get his emotions under control.
"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, seemingly delighted at the prospect of flinging gnomes. "Harry's got superhuman throwing strength now—we'll clear the garden in record time!"
As everyone began dispersing from the table, Harry deliberately kept his eyes on his plate. He could feel Hermione hovering nearby, perhaps waiting for him to acknowledge her, but he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. If she regretted last night as much as he suspected, the kindest thing he could do was give her space.
Let her make the first move, he decided. If she wants to talk, she will. If not... well, I'll just have to learn to live with the consequences of one impulsive night.
He forced himself to join Ron's enthusiastic exit, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest as he left the kitchen without a backward glance. Behind him, he heard Mrs. Weasley's kind voice: "Hermione, dear, are you feeling alright? You've hardly touched your breakfast."
Harry quickened his pace, not waiting to hear her response.
"Right, Harry. Show us what those werewolf muscles can do," Fred challenged, gesturing to a particularly fat gnome that was scowling at them from beneath a withered rosebush.
The summer sun beat down relentlessly on the Weasleys' garden, turning the de-gnoming task into a sweaty, uncomfortable affair. Harry grabbed the gnome by its ankles, the creature's potato-like head dangling as it spewed tiny obscenities at him.
"Language," Harry muttered before spinning it in three rapid circles and launching it over the garden wall. The gnome sailed through the air in a perfect arc, landing with a distant thud well beyond their usual throwing distance.
"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, shielding his eyes to watch the gnome's flight. "That's got to be fifty feet at least!"
George whistled appreciatively. "Impressive. Remind me never to challenge you to a snowball fight again."
"Bit unfair though, isn't it?" Fred mused, wrestling with his own gnome. "Enhanced strength, enhanced reflexes—it's practically cheating at Quidditch."
"It's not cheating if it's natural ability," Ron argued, coming to Harry's defense. "Besides, Malfoy's been buying his way onto the Slytherin team for years. About time we had an advantage."
Harry appreciated Ron's support, but his mind wasn't really on Quidditch. From his peripheral vision, he'd spotted Hermione walking from the house to the clothesline, a basket of laundry in her arms. He deliberately turned his back, focusing intently on locating another gnome.
Don't look at her. Don't make this worse than it already is.
"You alright, mate?" Ron asked, noticing Harry's sudden concentration on the ground. "You look like you're hunting for buried treasure instead of gnomes."
"Just trying to find the clever ones hiding in the roots," Harry replied, keeping his voice casual.
The twins exchanged one of their indecipherable twin-glances.
"We're going to check the compost heap," Fred announced. "Gnomes love rotting vegetables."
"Nutritious and delicious," George agreed as they sauntered off, leaving Harry alone with Ron.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Ron lowered his voice. "Seriously, what's going on with you today? You've been acting weird since breakfast."
Harry straightened up, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Nothing. Just didn't sleep well."
"Is it the lycanthropy thing? Moon troubles?"
"Something like that," Harry agreed, grateful for the convenient excuse.
They worked in silence for a few minutes, Harry methodically clearing gnomes while trying to appear normal. The sound of footsteps approaching made him tense, but it was only Ginny, carrying a basket and garden shears.
"Mum sent me to cut some herbs," she explained, setting her basket down. "How goes the gnome eviction?"
"Harry's breaking distance records," Ron told her proudly, as if Harry's abilities were somehow a credit to him. "You should've seen the last one—practically flew to the next county!"
Ginny smiled, but her eyes lingered on Harry with unusual scrutiny. "You seem quiet today, Harry. Everything okay?"
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Harry replied, more defensively than he'd intended.
"Because you look like someone stole your Firebolt," Ginny said bluntly. "And you keep glancing toward the laundry line when you think no one's watching."
Harry felt his face grow hot. Was he really that transparent?
"I'm fine," he insisted. "Just thinking about the World Cup. Ron was telling me about Viktor Krum earlier—"
"Oh, don't get him started again," Ginny groaned. "He's been going on about 'the great Viktor Krum' all summer. You'd think he wanted to marry the bloke."
"I have not!" Ron protested, ears turning pink. "I just appreciate his skill as a Seeker!"
Their Quidditch debate was cut short as two figures approached from the direction of the house. Harry's stomach lurched when he realized it was Hermione, walking alongside Mrs. Weasley. They appeared to be in mid-conversation.
"—and the charm works best when you flick upward at the end," Mrs. Weasley was saying. "Ah, perfect timing! Ginny, dear, I need you to help me with something in the kitchen. Hermione's finished with the laundry and can help you gather those herbs."
Before anyone could protest, Mrs. Weasley had whisked Ginny away, leaving Hermione standing awkwardly at the edge of the garden. Harry suddenly found the gnome hole by his foot absolutely fascinating.
"Right," Ron said after a moment of thick silence. "I think I see some gnomes by the pond. Back in a bit."
And then there were two.
Harry continued poking at the empty gnome hole, painfully aware of Hermione shifting her weight from one foot to the other a few yards away.
"The herbs are over there," he finally said, gesturing vaguely toward a corner of the garden without looking up.
"I know," Hermione replied, her voice unnaturally stiff. "I was just... checking if you needed help with the gnomes first."
"We're almost done," Harry said quickly. "Besides, you should probably start on the herbs before Mrs. Weasley comes back."
"Right. The herbs. Yes."
Neither of them moved.
"Harry—" Hermione began at the same moment Harry said, "Hermione—"
They both stopped, finally making eye contact for the first time since last night. Harry felt a jolt in his chest at the sight of her—hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, cheeks flushed from the sun. For a moment, he forgot all his resolutions about giving her space.
"You first," he offered, straightening up.
Before she could speak, Ginny reappeared, looking slightly annoyed. "Mum just wanted me to move a jar from one shelf to another," she complained. "I swear, sometimes I think she's—" She stopped, registering the tension between Harry and Hermione. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," they said in unison, then looked away from each other.
Ginny's eyes narrowed. "Are you two fighting or something? Hermione, are you mad at Harry?"
Hermione let out a forced laugh that didn't remotely reach her eyes. "Don't be silly, Ginny. Why would I be mad at Harry?"
"I don't know," Ginny said slowly. "That's why I'm asking."
"Well, I'm not," Hermione insisted, fiddling with the handle of the herb basket. "I'm just tired, and I can't stop thinking about all the preparation for the new school year. Fourth year is supposed to be when the workload really intensifies."
"It's the middle of summer," Ginny pointed out skeptically.
"You know Hermione," Harry interjected, trying to sound normal. "Always planning ahead."
"Exactly," Hermione agreed, a bit too enthusiastically. "At least I have books to pass the time. Speaking of which, I should finish collecting these herbs so I can get back to my reading."
She hurried off toward the herb garden, her shoulders tense.
Ginny turned to Harry, one eyebrow raised in a manner disturbingly reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "Okay, what's really going on? And don't say 'nothing' again or I'll set a Bat-Bogey Hex on you."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, desperately searching for a distraction. "I was actually wondering about Quidditch tactics," he blurted out. "Ron mentioned you've been practicing as a Chaser. Any tips for the Gryffindor team this year?"
Ginny's suspicion didn't fade, but the mention of Quidditch did catch her interest. "Well, I've been working on a feint that could be useful..."
As she launched into a description of her new flying technique, Harry nodded along, occasionally glancing toward the herb garden where Hermione was methodically snipping at plants.
This is going to be a very long summer, he thought grimly.
.
.
Harry couldn't sleep. Again. The Burrow creaked and settled around him, a symphony of unfamiliar sounds made crystal clear by his enhanced hearing. Ron's rhythmic snoring provided a steady backbeat, punctuated by the occasional gnome scurrying in the garden below and an owl hooting in the distance.
Midnight came and went. By one in the morning, Harry had given up. He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Ron, and padded silently down the stairs. Maybe a glass of water would help. Or maybe he just needed to move, to do something besides lie in bed replaying the day's awkwardness in his mind.
The kitchen was dimly lit by a single candle, revealing Hermione seated at the table, a steaming mug clutched between her hands. She looked up when he entered, her eyes widening slightly.
"Oh," Harry said eloquently, freezing in the doorway. "Sorry, I didn't—I can go back upstairs."
"No," Hermione said quickly. "Stay. Please."
Harry hesitated, then moved to the sink, filling a glass with water to give his hands something to do. The silence between them felt brittle, as if the slightest wrong word might shatter it irreparably.
"Couldn't sleep?" he finally asked, turning to face her.
Hermione shook her head. "Too many thoughts."
Another painful silence stretched between them. Harry took a sip of water, watching her over the rim of his glass. She looked tired, shadows under her eyes, her hair messier than usual.
"I just wanted to see you laugh today," he blurted out, surprising himself with the honesty. "All day, that's all I wanted. To see you smile, to hear you laugh. But every time I looked at you, you seemed so... unhappy."
Hermione's grip tightened on her mug. "You didn't look at me all day, Harry. That was rather the problem."
"I thought that's what you wanted," Harry said, confusion clouding his features. "You could barely make eye contact with me this morning. I thought you regretted what happened between us."
"Regretted it?" Hermione's voice rose slightly, then she caught herself, lowering it to an intense whisper. "Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because you thought I regretted it?"
Harry set his glass down, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "What was I supposed to think? You couldn't get away from me fast enough afterward. Then at breakfast, you sat as far away as possible. I was trying to give you space!"
"I sat with Ginny because it was the only seat available when I came down!" Hermione countered, exasperation clear in her voice. "And I left quickly last night because I was embarrassed and overwhelmed and didn't know what to say. I've never done anything like that before! Why did you act so... so indifferent today?" Hermione demanded, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Like nothing had happened between us?"
Harry stared at her, genuinely baffled. "I was trying to follow your lead! You're always the one who knows the right thing to do, Hermione. When you didn't mention it, I thought you wanted to pretend it never happened."
A choked laugh escaped her. "And I was waiting for you to say something first! To acknowledge what happened, to give me some sign that it meant something to you!" She shook her head in disbelief. "All day, I've been thinking that you got what you wanted from me and now you were done."
"What?" Harry gaped at her, horror-struck. "Hermione, no! How could you think that?"
"Because you wouldn't even look at me!" she hissed. "Because Fred and George made those jokes at breakfast and you just sat there! Because when we were finally alone in the garden, you practically told me to go away!"
Harry's mind reeled, piecing together the day from her perspective. Every interaction, every moment of avoidance—what he'd intended as respectful distance must have seemed like cold rejection to her.
"I'm an idiot," he said softly.
"Yes, you are," Hermione agreed, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly.
"No, I mean it," Harry insisted, moving closer to the table. "I've been so caught up in my own head, worrying about ruining our friendship, that I didn't stop to think about how my actions would look to you."
"And I was too afraid to just ask you directly," Hermione admitted. "Not very Gryffindor of me."
The tension between them had shifted, softened. Harry took a seat across from her, close enough that their knees almost touched beneath the table.
"So," he said cautiously, "to be perfectly clear: you don't regret last night?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed pink, but she met his gaze steadily. "No, Harry. I don't regret it at all."
Relief flooded through him, warm and sweet. "Good," he breathed. "Because neither do I. Not for a second."
"Really?" she asked, vulnerability flickering across her face. "Even though it makes everything more complicated?"
"Some complications are worth it," Harry said, reaching across the table to take her hand. "You're worth it, Hermione."
Her fingers intertwined with his, warm and familiar. "So what happens now?"
Harry stood, gently tugging her to her feet. When she was standing in front of him, close enough that he could count her eyelashes in the candlelight, he cupped her face in his hands.
"Now," he said softly, "I do what I've been wanting to do all day."
He kissed her gently, reverently, pouring all his unspoken feelings into the contact. Hermione responded immediately, her arms winding around his neck as she pressed closer. This kiss was different from their desperate, passion-driven ones the night before—slower, deeper, more deliberate.
When they broke apart, Hermione's smile was radiant. "I think we've been making this unnecessarily complicated."
"We do tend to overthink things," Harry agreed, resting his forehead against hers.
"Speak for yourself," she murmured, pulling him back for another kiss.
What began as gentle quickly intensified, the day's tension transforming into something more urgent. Harry's enhanced senses made every touch electric—the silkiness of her hair between his fingers, the taste of chamomile tea on her lips, the subtle changes in her breathing as he deepened the kiss.
They were so absorbed in each other that they almost missed the creak of a floorboard outside the kitchen door. Almost.
Harry broke away, alert. "Someone's there," he whispered, his preternatural hearing picking up the sound of retreating footsteps.
Without a word, they both rushed to the door, flinging it open to reveal... an empty hallway.
"I definitely heard someone," Harry insisted, peering into the darkness. His enhanced vision detected a shadow moving at the top of the stairs, but it was gone before he could identify it.
"Who do you think it was?" Hermione whispered, clutching his arm.
Harry shook his head, slightly annoyed at the interruption. "Probably Ginny. She's been giving us suspicious looks all day."
"You're probably right," Hermione agreed, sounding more amused than concerned. "She's quite perceptive."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated that their moment had been cut short. "Well, that's that, then. The Weasleys will know about us by breakfast."
"I wouldn't be so sure. I will have a talk with Ginny if it was her. She will keep it quite and we will reveal it when we are ready." Hermione suggested, and Harry nodded, feeling better already.
Harry wasn't really in the mood to talk with Ron about what he and Hermione were doing in the kitchen of his house during the night.
"I will see you tomorrow, then." Harry said, a little awkwardly, and she giggled, looking happy. She kissed his lips before walking upstairs.
"Tomorrow." She said, before walking into the room she shared with Ginny.
Harry felt all the tension of the entire day disappear like ice under the sun. Hermione and he were a thing, and she did not regret it.
Unknown to Harry, his Romantic Life was about to get more complicated, with many witches wanting a piece of his heart.
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