Author’s Notes: This chapter contains a lot of material I’ve taken from the books as well as common theories on the Horcruxes. Horcruxes, you might ask? :) The Wizard War is a central part of this story actually. You’ll see later on how and why. However, I prefer not to dwell on it too much, like how the Horcruxes were destroyed, because while the War is integral to the story, it is NOT the main point of the story. It simply serves as the backdrop for the story. :) Rated for suggestive scenes, by the way.
Somewhere out there
Beneath the pale moonlight,
Someone’s thinking of me
And loving me tonight.
Somewhere out there,
Someone’s saying a prayer
That we’ll find one another
And meet somewhere out there.
And even though I know
How very far apart we are,
It helps to think we might be wishing
On that same bright star.
--- James Horner (Somewhere Out There) ---
Hermione’s eyes widened even more.
“We need to talk,” James repeated, more firmly this time.
The look on Harry’s face was stormy as he looked from his father to Hermione, both of whom were intently staring at each other, as though waiting for the other to make the next move. “About what?” he demanded.
Lily bristled at her son’s tone. “Harry,” she said warningly.
“I was just asking,” Harry answered defensively. Aren’t you wondering why the two of them seem to be comfortable with each other, Mum? Too comfortable, perhaps, for our own good? he asked inside his head.
Lily was, actually. But she chose not to let it show, despite the doubts that were crowding her mind at the moment. Anybody with half a brain could see that something special existed between James and Hermione, with the way they were looking at each other right now. Lily also sensed that it was something complicated and full of conflict, but somehow, she just didn’t believe it was something romantic. She trusted James. He would never, ever cheat on her.
“Ask nicely then,” Lily reprimanded Harry. “You’re talking to your father.”
James wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and squeezed her arm in reassurance. “It’s fine, Lil.” He didn’t offer any explanation as to why he thought his son had been acting that way lately towards him. Bridging a discussion about it would be tantamount to admitting that such thoughts had entered his mind, and he did not want to think about those at the moment.
Harry was still looking suspiciously at him, so that James had no choice but to laugh to diffuse the tense air. He and Hermione had committed a major blunder he had to smooth over — quickly.
“Professor Lupin has asked me to discuss a few points of your essay with you. That’s all,” James lied, speaking to Hermione.
Hermione seemed to snap out of a trance. Realization dawned on her face and her features brightened. “Oh, yes.” James couldn’t tell if she was faking or not, if she even knew he was lying. He prayed she wouldn’t ask what essay he was talking about.
“Did Professor Lupin—?”
“On second thought, I think it would be better if you discussed it with him when he’s feeling better,” James interrupted mildly.
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but was silenced by the almost undetectable shaking of his head. “Oh, sure. Okay,” she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.
Harry had had enough. “We’ll go then, Mum,” he said, taking Hermione’s hand and starting to drag her away. “Dad,” he added hesitantly, jerking his head in goodbye.
James nodded graciously at his son, and then looked away so that he would miss the sight of them together, which still inexplicably annoyed him. After a few moments he turned to Dumbledore. “Shall we?”
The Hogwarts headmaster nodded and began leading the way to his office. “Acid Pops,” he said, tapping the stone gargoyle. The three of them watched it spring to life and step aside to reveal the stairs that led to his circular room.
Once inside, Dumbledore settled himself in his seat behind his table and gestured for the Potters to take their seats. He laced his fingers together in a characteristic manner and took a deep breath before speaking.
“James,” he addressed the Minister. “You told me yesterday that rumours about Lord Voldemort’s existence have been active throughout the Ministry.” James said nothing, waiting for the venerable old man to continue. “Likewise, I have received reports of a certain spiritual presence living in the Forbidden Forest.”
“How?” Lily asked.
“Hagrid has found several white unicorns dead in the forest, all of them with their blood drained. Aragog also, he said, spoke of a sinister shadow looming in the forest. It is very possible that all of them point to Voldemort’s survival even to this day.”
Lily shuddered. “But I thought he was dead, when he tried to attack us seventeen years ago. I thought James killed him!”
Something flashed in Dumbledore’s eyes. But then, James might have imagined it through the wizard’s half-moon spectacles. “I never really believed him to be dead,” Dumbledore said softly. “I think I am close to figuring out why he didn’t die, why he cannot be killed just yet. I will tell you when the time is right.”
“He cannot be killed?” James repeated, stunned. “Professor, are you sure Voldemort is still alive, and that he is the one hiding in the forest?”
Dumbledore nodded gravely. “James, I wish I didn’t have to say this, but I’m sure. I know.” He paused a moment to recollect his thoughts, then said, “But you see, although Voldemort is alive still, he doesn’t have a body he can use just yet. The unicorns were killed because he needed blood to sustain the form which he is in at the moment.”
“So near Hogwarts,” Lily fretted, her face ashen. “Is he still … living up to the prophecy? He still wants to kill Harry?”
Dumbledore closed his eyes and gave another nod. Lily put one hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp of fear. She turned to her husband. “Oh, James, we have to protect Harry,” she pleaded with him, as though he possibly didn’t want to. “Harry is … Oh, Harry. He is seventeen, but he is still a child. He has not known much hardship in life.” She covered her face in her hands.
James rubbed Lily’s back consolingly as he moved his chair closer to where she sat. “Lily, of course we’ll protect Harry. We’ll even teach him to protect himself.” He smiled for a moment. “Not that he needs to. You remember that basilisk he battled in second year? He is naturally skilled in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Which he took after me, of course.”
That coaxed a smile from Lily when she lifted her face. “You’re right, James. I was being silly. Harry has braved some dangers already. But I am just so scared.” She turned back to the headmaster. “Professor, do you know of any method Voldemort might use to regenerate his body?”
“I do.” Dumbledore looked even more troubled now. “There is a very ancient magic he can evoke, but it requires the blood of his enemy.” He fixed his gaze on James. “I think it’s your blood he’s after.”
Lily stifled another gasp. Fear was etched even more deeply into her face. “James…”
“That’s not what you’re thinking,” James told the headmaster, who nodded. “It’s my blood he needs, yes, but he’s going to take it from my son.” His voice was shaking with anger. “That bastard. I’m going to kill him before he lays one finger on Harry.”
Dumbledore shook his head. “James, James. Voldemort cannot be killed that easily, I told you.” He considered the two of them and sighed. “I guess I really should tell you now. Have either of you heard about Horcruxes?”
James shook his head while Lily answered, “I just know it’s one of the darkest forms of magic, Professor.”
“Indeed it is,” Dumbledore said as he stood up from his chair and paced the room, his hands in his pockets. “All these years that people describe as peaceful, but what I call the calm before the storm, I have done my best to know as much about Voldemort as I can in the hope that I could confirm or reject the hypothesis I’ve been working on.”
“A Horcrux is an object charmed to conceal part of the soul of a person. While the divine form of the soul is intact, it may be split by the supreme act against nature — murder. Killing rips the soul apart, and the wizard may use this to his advantage by encasing the torn portion of his soul in an object.”
Lily was horrified. “So this is why Voldemort cannot be killed?” she breathed. “He has made himself Horcruxes? He killed so he cannot be killed?”
James was almost afraid to ask the question. “How many?”
“Six,” Dumbledore said. James and Lily felt as though their own souls were torn apart. They had no idea that they had been battling a wizard powerful enough to triumph even over death. How were they supposed to win? How were they supposed to fight in the first place?
“You see then, I hope, that we must battle on a different front,” Dumbledore said. “If we can destroy his Horcruxes, we can reduce Voldemort to a mortal man bereft of a soul, although with his magical abilities still intact.”
“You make it sound so easy,” James answered. “Do you know what objects he used as his Horcruxes? Do you know where he keeps them? I assume they are highly protected, wherever they are.”
Dumbledore nodded again in agreement as he returned to his seat. “Right you are, James. But Harry, surprisingly, has already destroyed one.” He smiled as he saw their jaws drop in shock. “Do you remember the diary that enchanted Ginny Weasley to open the Chamber of Secrets five years ago? That diary was not just Tom Riddle’s diary; Voldemort had made it his Horcrux.” Dumbledore smiled thoughtfully. In a way, Harry has already begun fulfilling his destiny.
Lily was beaming with pride as she sat up straighter in her chair.
“I have also destroyed his grandfather’s ornate ring, which is an heirloom passed on to the descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself. The cup, which once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, is also no longer a Horcrux, “ Dumbledore continued.
James was shaking his head in awe and admiration. Dumbledore’s words made his heart brim with hope. “Headmaster, you are truly the greatest wizard in this world. I would have asked you to recount every detail of your story, but that would take too long, I imagine.”
“It would indeed, and I wish to do it justice. Maybe someday, when the day that we can simply laugh at old sorrows comes.” Dumbledore smiled at James.
“There are only three left then,” Lily said, stating the obvious. She looked expectantly at Dumbledore. “Do you—?”
Dumbledore’s blue eyes sparkled. “Yes I do, my dear. One is the necklace of Slytherin that bears his mark. The Mirror of Erised is another, as it was actually Rowena Ravenclaw’s.” He smiled at the utter amazement mirrored on the couple’s faces. “The last one is Voldemort’s snake, Nagini.”
“The Four Founders,” James said with spite. “Well, almost anyway. He didn’t find anything of Gryffindor’s. But still, such historical objects make it more difficult for us to destroy them. But we will. We will,” he said forcefully.
“I think I know where the necklace is,” Dumbledore said. He looked at James. “You might want to ask Sirius for help. I believe the Blacks have kept it.”
His hazel eyes widened. “Grimmauld Place.”
“Exactly,” Dumbledore affirmed. He turned to Lily next. “Lily, could I assign the mirror to you? I have examined it and have found that it cannot be destroyed by even the most difficult curses, probably due to the protective charms placed on it.” He smiled at her. “Charms, of course, is your area of expertise.”
Lily nodded briskly. “Definitely, Headmaster. I can do it.”
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “I cannot even describe to you the relief I feel having both of you on my side in this war.” He sighed. “I hope we succeed in destroying at least the five inanimate Horcruxes before Voldemort has been truly resurrected. The snake — I doubt we’ll find it without finding him first, so that can wait. And then him, finally.”
James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Professor, are you planning to reform the Order? I have continued Auror training in the Ministry for the past ten years, so that we at least have a capable army this time around.”
The headmaster nodded appreciatively. “Very good, James. But we’ll only summon them if, and when, the worst happens.” He looked from one to another, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Work as quickly as you can, for time is pressing. Your tasks — keep them secret, and keep them safe.”
James and Lily were both breathing in and out deeply, as though trying to lessen the impact of all that have been talked about tonight. “Yes, Headmaster,” James said, while Lily simply nodded.
“That is all,” Dumbledore said. To their ears, his words seemed to be the understatement of the century. “Have some rest now. Do you want to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Lily? James will be spending the night here, as Remus is still indisposed to do his lessons tomorrow.”
Husband and wife glanced at each other. “That won’t be necessary, Professor,” Lily answered. “I have matters to attend to at home before I turn in.” She yawned behind one delicate hand. “May I use your Fire?”
“Certainly, Lily.”
James stood up and accompanied his wife to the fireplace. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he said, smiling his most charming smile. “Sweet dreams.”
Lily regarded him for a moment and then smiled, although it did not quite reach her eyes. Earlier misgivings had resurfaced, but she was too tired to deal with them. “Goodnight, James.”
He leaned towards her to kiss her and pull her to him, but she didn’t bother to return his embrace. She stepped away quickly and reached for the Floo powder. Without glancing back at James, she shouted, “Godric’s Hollow!” and stepped into the fire. Lily needed warmth, badly. Her husband’s display of affection had left her cold.
Hermione felt a sharp pain stab her finger. She wriggled her wrist, pounded her arm on the bed and rolled over to the other side. She felt another stab. “Stop it,” she said angrily, opening her eyes and sitting up in bed. Bleary-eyed, she looked around and tried to locate the source of her discomfort. She spotted a big, tawny owl sitting on her bed, holding a parchment and a package in his beak.
She glared at the owl. “What are you doing, bringing packages at this time of the night? I was sleeping!” The owl dropped the parchment and parcel unto the bed and hooted softly, as though to remind Hermione that he was a nocturnal animal. He then flapped his wings and soared out of the window into the night. Hermione stood up, cursing, and went to pull the window down. She reminded herself to never again forget to shut the window before going to sleep.
She stepped back towards her bed cautiously, reaching for her wand to light the nearest torch. Who would send her anything at such a late hour? She sat down on the soft mattress and reached to unroll the parchment, which she thought was the safer thing to do first.
Hi. Could you meet me at the Quidditch field right now? We really need to talk. Use the Invisibility Cloak. I’ll be waiting. —JP—
JP. She shivered. He wanted to see her. Hermione felt a combination of warmth and apprehension overwhelm her as she tore the parcel open. “Wow,” she murmured, running her fingers over the flimsy, translucent material the cloak was made of.
It was easy to make her mind up. She bent down, rummaged in her trunk for spare robes, and pulled them over her nightgown. She glanced once at the mirror to make sure she looked decent enough to face him, then efficiently rolled up the parchment and tucked it in one of her pockets.
Hermione draped the cloth over her whole body and walked to the dormitory door. She reached for the knob and looked around, hoping her roommates were all sound asleep. The knob creaked as it turned. Hermione squeezed herself through the small wedge of the open door and carefully closed it behind her. She took a deep breath and walked as fast as she could on tiptoes. The sooner she could get out of the castle, the better.
She was surprised to find the door of the castle slightly ajar when she reached it, and then remembered whom she was meeting. She smiled as she remembered the pranks the Marauders used to play when they were in Hogwarts. Now where did that come from? she wondered. It wasn’t as if she knew any of the pranks they actually pulled back then, but a memory of Slytherins having their hair dyed green nagged her mind. I heard it from Fred and George, most likely. Ron’s older twin brothers worshipped the ground the Marauders walked on.
The cold wind whipped across her face as she stepped outside. Hermione made her way through the grounds to the ornate white gates that led to the field and pushed it open. A lone figure stood approximately ten feet away from the gate with his back to her. Hermione held her breath as she walked towards the figure, the springy grass silencing her footsteps.
When she had traversed half the original distance between the two of them, she stopped and took a moment to study him. His broad shoulders and the proud way he stood gave him a striking appearance even from behind. This is it. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and pulled the cloak off her.
“James,” she said simply, and then inwardly cringed at the seemingly inappropriate use of his first name.
He quickly whipped around and stretched his arms behind him, hiding his hands from her. At the sight of Hermione, his face broke into a big, sudden smile so that Hermione looked behind her to make sure it was really directed at her. He could not be that happy to see her. James closed the remaining gap between them.
“You came,” he said, his lips still curved upward.
“Yes, I—”
“For you.” James pulled his hands from his back and presented Hermione with a bouquet of white and red roses. Hermione blinked and looked up at him in surprise. “I picked them myself, didn’t conjure them out of midair.” He gave her another smile.
Please stop smiling, Hermione pleaded silently as she took the flowers from him. “Thank you. But what are these for?”
“Oh, there’s no occasion,” he answered carelessly. “It’s just that they’re beautiful, and — so are you.” He was still smiling, but his eyes were anxious, watching how she would react.
And Hermione did not know what to do. A sense of déjà vu was eating at her mind, but she was sure nothing of this sort had ever happened to her before. No man had ever been this sweet to her. Harry never gave her flowers on just any ordinary day. But the idea that something of this sort had happened before, only she couldn’t remember when and where, was not the only thought that was bothering her. James Potter, her boyfriend’s father, and married to Lily Evans … Oh, Merlin. He’s taking it further. Did she really want him to, or did she not? She knew she should not, but she found herself irresistibly attracted to him. It would have been so much easier if he just stayed away. But he was forcing her to face it like an adult — whatever it was that existed between them.
Her silence troubled him. “Hermione?” he said tentatively.
She smiled uncertainly at him, and the crease between his eyebrows disappeared. “I like them. Thank you.” She paused, as though wondering where to start. “It’s kind of late, James — I’m sorry, may I call you James?”
James laughed. “I actually like it when you call me James.”
Hermione blushed, grateful for the cover the night offered, but feeling more at ease with his relaxed manner. “Yes, well. As I was saying, it’s kind of late, but you said we needed to talk? About what?”
“You know exactly what we need to talk about.” His features suddenly became more serious. “Would you mind if we take a walk while we’re talking?”
“No, no.” A walk was exactly what Hermione needed to keep her from staring at his face. She found more reasons to like him the longer she saw him.
They walked in silence for a few moments, Hermione marvelling at the fact that she was with the man that she had dreamt of loving day and night. Stay cool, Hermione. Wait for him to talk first. James soon broke the silence. “I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you?”
She smiled faintly. “Yes, but—”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mind.”
James smiled. “Thank you for saying that.” He paused as he thought about what he wanted to tell her. There was quite a lot, which was why he had requested to see her. He was hoping whatever she would say would shed some light on some of the things that have been troubling him lately. “Hermione, do you remember when I told you the night of that dinner—” He grimaced because it was uncomfortable for him to remember Harry when he was with Hermione. “When I told you that you reminded me of someone?”
Hermione nodded, wondering where this conversation was going to lead. “Yes, but that you couldn’t remember who that someone is.”
“I still cannot. But somehow I know that whoever she is, she was somebody special to me. When I saw you that night, it was as though something long and deeply buried inside of me had awakened, as though I had finally found what I’ve lost, whatever it was.” He pulled at his hair in frustration. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but it was like I’ve known you before. And I don’t understand why I’m feeling this way.”
“Do you know, you just put into words what has been bothering me too,” Hermione answered quietly. James looked at her with surprise. “But unlike you, I have been thinking about it since the first time I saw you, way back when I was in second year. When I learned you were Harry’s—” She swallowed a lump of guilt. “When I learned you were his father, I thought that was just the reason why you looked familiar. Because he looked so much like you. But it was also during the night of that dinner that something in my heart told me my connection with you went deeper than that you’re Harry’s father.” She gave a small laugh. “It really is strange, isn’t it? And like you, I don’t understand why. Or even how.”
James pondered what she just said. “I was hoping you could give me some answers, but it seems like we’re both looking for them.” The memory of kissing Hermione in his office filled his mind. “I know I’ve known you before, Hermione. I know that because when I kissed you, it was different from kissing any other woman…” The words reminded him of Lily, but he drove her image away in his head. “It was different, but it wasn’t new.”
Hermione felt a burning shame consume her when he brought up that incident in his office. Somehow, it was different when she was alone thinking about it. But if he could talk about it, then so could she. “I’m sorry I can’t help you understand why.”
“Maybe you can.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You see, during that time, the issue that you reminded me of someone I could not remember was not very important to me anymore. It was the fact that I found you very attractive, even when you did not remind me of her. Even when you’re Hermione Granger.”
He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His lips were curved in a sad smile. “I thought I still had control over what I feel when I rebuked you for coming too close. After all, I am not some silly little teenager who cannot control his desires. But when I gave in to the temptation that was you, when I kissed you, I finally lost the war I’ve been waging with myself. I feel something very strong for you, Hermione. I do not know if it is love. I am hoping it is not love, for everybody’s sake. Not when you and I have something going for us in our own lives. Not when it’s just so wrong, whichever way I choose to look at it.”
Hermione was so taken aback with his candour, with the way his voice vibrated with emotion. She suddenly regretted calling him by his first name, as it set the tone for a more romantic nature between them. “Minister—”
Pain flashed in James’s eyes. “Don’t remind me of that now, Hermione. Please.”
“What do you want me to say?” Hermione’s eyes were filled with mingled confusion and anguish as she looked at him. “One of us has to be reasonable about this.” She felt she had to say as much, even when she really didn’t want to.
James could not believe what he was hearing. “We can deal with reason later. Tell me how you feel about what I just said, about me. Tell me you don’t feel the same way. Or better yet, tell me that you do.”
Unspoken emotions raged between them before Hermione managed a wistful smile. “I have been fascinated with you ever since I’ve known you, as anybody who grew up on tales of you would have been. Champion Gryffindor Seeker. One of the Marauders. The hero who conquered the Dark Lord. Minister of Magic. You were the James Potter, and I worshipped you.”
Now that she had started, she could no longer hold herself back. She stepped closer to him and gently laid his palm on his face. “It didn’t hurt, of course, that I found you so good-looking even then. I thought to myself that if I was ever to marry a man, it would be you. Or someone like you.” Her eyes dropped to the ground. “Sometimes I think I’m only with Harry because … because he is the closest I’ll ever get to having you.”
James didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at her words. He pulled her to him with no resistance from her and felt her rest her cheek on his left shoulder. He closed his eyes as he entwined his fingers in her thick brown curls and deeply inhaled the vanilla scent that was as seductive as she. A feeling so raw filled him, and he was shocked to realize that it was happiness.
“I don’t see why we should be talking about this, James,” Hermione murmured, “when what we feel doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right,” James said, stroking the back of her neck. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care about what was right or wrong when he was holding her like this. “So what do you want to do?”
Hermione tilted her face up to look at him and gave a small laugh. “I want to stay like this forever, James, just you and me. But life never asked me what I wanted.” She gazed at him sadly. “You should’ve asked me instead what the right thing to do is. But I guess you did not because you already know what it is. We both know what it is.”
“Knowing it, and even understanding why, doesn’t make it easier to do.”
Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself to say the words they were both dreading. “Our only option now is to not nurture what we have. It would be easier for both of us if we try to keep out of each other’s way.” But in the end, what was felt would be more real than what was chosen. There was one question she wanted to ask him, but felt that the time was too soon for her to do so, and that it was too presumptuous on her part.
“You mean because we really do not know what we feel for each other, if it really is worth fighting for.” James had read her doubts perfectly. “Do you … love me, Hermione?”
Hermione swallowed. She honestly did not know yet. “Maybe not enough, James, to risk everything by being with you.” She looked at him squarely. “What about you? I doubt you would want to trade your family, and everything else, just for me.” The look on James’s face was admission enough, and the truth cut her deeply.
James’s eyes were shadowed with defeat, but he knew Hermione was right. There was no other way. They had to give up what was between them while it was early, quit while they were ahead. James felt the strength draining from him, but there would be time to be miserable later. He attempted to make light of the situation. “You’re right. We should stop. So when do we start?” he asked half-jokingly, with a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Right now, I guess,” Hermione replied uncertainly. Somehow she felt reluctant to step back from his warmth, from his touch.
He grinned as he read the internal struggle reflected in Hermione’s eyes. It made her look vulnerable, feminine. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “It’s quarter to twelve on my time right now. What do you say we start at twelve-oh-one?”
James was buying them time, but Hermione could not refuse it. Right or wrong, real or not, both of them could not deny that there was something special between them. “What are we going to do until then?”
Hermione watched as James took out his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the stadium. Seconds later she saw a Firebolt speeding towards them, and ducked just as he caught it by its handle.
“I didn’t know you own a Firebolt,” Hermione said, admiring what was undoubtedly the best broom in the world. Harry owned one too, and it had helped him win many Quidditch championships for Gryffindor.
“One of the little luxuries,” James said. “I brought it because I wanted to take you flying.”
Hermione smiled, feeling bathed in a warm glow. “You think of everything, don’t you? Like leaving the door of the castle unlocked.”
“Of course.” James flashed another smile, this time genuine. He wanted these last few minutes with her to be perfect. “I wanted to make tonight a night to remember.” He angled the broom so that it was almost parallel and lay low to the ground. “So what about the broom ride?”
Hermione removed her arms around him and looked warily at the broom. “I’ve never flown.”
James tilted his head to one side and looked at her with surprise. “You’ve never flown?” he echoed. Didn’t Harry ever take her flying?
“Except when you smile at me, of course,” Hermione said shyly. “But on a broomstick, no, never.”
He smiled at her, and true to her words, Hermione felt like she was on cloud nine. “I’m glad your first time’s with me. You will go with me, right?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, anywhere. Just say the word.” She got on the broom before James, who positioned himself behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kicked his feet off the ground. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the broom handle tightly as she felt her feet leave the ground.
“Just lean back against me, keep your grip on the handle, and open your eyes,” James whispered in her ear. Hermione did as she was told. “Are you still scared?”
Hermione shook her head, her hair brushing his face. “No, James. Not with you.” And she wasn’t, really, not anymore, even when James accelerated and they began manoeuvring through the Quidditch hoops and reached the height of the Astronomy Tower. They were riding in silence, enjoying the wind whipping across their faces and the quiet sight of the world below.
“This is the best feeling in the world,” James said a few minutes later. “Flying and being with you.”
Hermione had to agree. Flying made her feel like she was on top of the world, that nothing could harm her. Not when she was up there, and certainly not with him holding her.
James checked his watch once more and saw that they had seven minutes to go before the hour struck twelve. He directed the Firebolt once more towards the Astronomy Tower and expertly landed on its rooftop. He assisted her as she got off the broomstick and left it lying on the floor.
“Did you enjoy it?” James asked her tenderly as he cupped her face and fanned his thumb over her right cheek.
Hermione nodded, too enamoured with him to speak. Her breath totally left her when he placed his mouth gently on hers. Kissing him as though it was her first kiss ever, or the last one she would ever be granted, she closed her eyes and recorded all the imprints being impressed on her senses: his smell that was so consummately male; the warmth of his skin against hers; the strength of his body as his arms tightly enclosed her waist; the rough ends of his longish hair that her fingertips glanced as they rested on his shoulders; his intoxicating taste as she opened herself to him. It was different from their first kiss — it wasn’t angry or spiteful, but honest and sweet, and bordered on reverence.
James lifted his mouth an inch from hers to look at her face, which was flushed with passion. Her eyes were closed, emphasizing her long thick lashes, and her head was thrown back — the portrait of submission. He knew it would be very easy to take her as his that very moment.
And then, as though aware of her loss, she opened her eyes and stared at him dazedly. “How much time do we have left?” she murmured.
“Five more minutes, maybe.”
Hermione shifted her hand to his nape, stood on tiptoes and drew him in for another kiss. James sank his fingers into her hair and felt all reason leave him again. His body was developing a physical urge that could not be satiated by kisses alone, but no. No. He was not going to act on it.
His mouth left hers and skimmed all over her face. “We have to go inside now,” he whispered. Her eyes fluttered open, and the sexiness of that gesture did not go unnoticed by James. His imagination went into overdrive as he pictured waking up to such a scene.
Without another word, they entered the castle and made their way back to the Gryffindor tower, hands clasped together. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, they stopped and turned to look at each other searchingly.
“This is it, then,” Hermione said, “the end of our little rendezvous.” She did not want to say goodbye just yet. “Goodnight, James.” Her eyes misted and a smile flitted across her lips. I will never forget this night, or you. But such words were best left unsaid.
James was staring intensely at her, as though willing her to change her mind. After a few more moments, he sighed and conceded. “Goodnight.” He sealed his words by brushing his lips against hers, and the passion between them flared up again, maybe even more strongly than before. He delved more deeply into her mouth with his tongue and felt his pulse quicken as she gasped catchy, breathy sounds in her throat. He wanted to go on kissing Hermione Granger forever.
His lips left hers and burnt a trail down her neck while his hands swept up and down her body, appreciating its curves. He groaned with pleasure and approval as Hermione grounded her hips against his and kneaded his back with her exploring hands.
A clock struck somewhere in the castle. It was time. James unwillingly disentangled himself from her. Hermione gave a tiny moan of protest at the sudden cold. Her knees trembled. James supported her at the waist until she was able to stand steadily on her own.
“Mimbulus mimbletonia”, James told the Fat Lady. The door swung open to admit them. Hermione bit her lower lip as though to relish the remnants of their kiss and looked at him, her brown eyes poignant with sadness and tenderness. “Goodnight.”
He gave a small nod, throat too constricted to speak. He watched her enter the doorway and slowly close the door. It was some time before he realised that he was still staring at the wooden panels, wishing he could be on the other side with her.
“James?” Remus Lupin called as he knocked on the door of his friend’s temporary quarters at Hogwarts. Nobody answered. He must be asleep. He knocked harder. “James?” Remus tried the doorknob, and to his surprise, found it unlocked. Frowning, he turned the knob all the way and pushed the door open.
The room was dark. “Lumos,” he whispered with his wand aloft. Nobody was in sight, but the bed was made. Everything seemed to be in their proper places. Remus wondered where James had got to. Probably went for a walk, or went home with Lily.
He quickly stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. “Nox.” The light at the tip of his wand went off. Remus retraced his steps back to his own room and took out the Marauder’s Map from the bottom drawer of his desk. He unrolled the parchment and laid it out on his table. He tapped it once with his wand and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”
Remus scanned the map once it was completely formed. Everyone in the castle seemed to be in bed already — except him. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, and was preparing to return the map to its drawer when a pair of bubbles too close to each other for the names inside them to be readable caught his attention. What would anybody be doing atop the Astronomy Tower?
“What else indeed?” Remus murmured to himself. The Astronomy Tower, dating back to his days at school, was the place for cosy Hogwarts couples. Curiosity getting the better of him, he leaned closer to the map and squinted at the letters.
James Potter, he grinned as he read the name. Trust James to go wandering around at night. But who was he with? Why didn’t the name look like Lily’s? He couldn’t be with anybody but Lily. Remus concentrated on the squiggly shapes and suddenly felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He jerked his head upwards in shock. It couldn’t be. His eyes were now wide with wariness and his mind was in a quandary. Should Dumbledore know about this? Dumbledore was right all along, and he needed to know how this was developing. The time is near.
And then just as suddenly, the need to report to Dumbledore what he had just discovered evaporated as he remembered everything his friend had gone through before now. Pity and happiness, shaded by his own jealousy, filled his heart as he came to his decision. No. Not this time. I owe James that much and more.
Albus Dumbledore was on his nightly security rounds, sipping his hot chocolate, when muffled voices from the hallway near the door to the Gryffindor common room reached his ears. Craning his neck towards the source of the sounds, he detected both a man and a woman’s voices.
He inched towards the turn that led to that corridor and flattened himself against the wall, then slowly peered around the corner, wondering if he was going to have to tell off students who were out of bed, and which ones were they. One of the Weasley twins, most likely.
The headmaster almost dropped his cup at the sight of the Minister of Magic and Hogwarts’ Head Girl in a heated embrace, both of them mindless with desire. He watched, riveted, as James groaned with gratification and Hermione pressed herself even closer to him. A grim mood gripped him. He swiftly turned his back on them and walked away, his brain sifting through all that he had seen tonight.
Soon. Very soon.
It was what he feared.
Author’s Notes: I hope you didn’t notice the length of this chapter while reading it (aka I hope you weren’t bored), because it’s really long! Haha. I enjoyed writing about Hermione and James’s rendezvous. Please tell me if you think I should somewhat shorten the chapters. Remus and Dumbledore are going to play significant roles in the story, so even if it’s not that clear yet, it will be soon. :) Don’t forget to review, as it’s just a click away! :)
Special thanks once more to my beta, Bobbey, who does it like nobody else can. :)