A/N: Here's the final chapter. This is actually the sixth(!) version I've written and while I'm still not quite happy this baby was due over a month ago and it's time to deliver (ha ha...er...um). As always, apologies for the typos and grammatical mistakes. Thanks for reading and thanks again to all who reviewed!

Words Unread II – Chapter 3

It has been two weeks since I last saw Hermione. Two weeks full of pacing, nail biting, and stomach aches. A man with more intelligence than myself would understand the message behind her complete absence in my life. A man with more sense would forget his hopeless love and force himself to move on. And a man with more dignity would never be standing outside her flat, mentally preparing himself to pound on her door and demand that she speak with him.

There are, of course, valid reasons why I shouldn't be here. An irate, curse-happy Bulgarian is a particularly good one. Further damaging one of the most important relationships in my life is another. And probably, I should add, the best reason for my not being here.

But my relationship, my friendship, with Hermione is also the best reason to be here.

If it were just my doomed love for Hermione that was at stake perhaps I would have tried a bit harder to be sensible, or at the very least dignified. But I can't guarantee to myself that our sixteen year friendship will be preserved by ignoring what happened between us and hoping that time will heal all wounds. For the sake of that alone I will not allow her to ignore me until things don't feel awkward anymore. Considering what I said and how strongly I feel about her, that day may never come.

So, here I am, being proactive. It's possible I am also being stupid, but at least no one will be able to say that I let the woman I love slip away and allowed our friendship to disintegrate without putting up a fight. Not that anyone but Ron would think of saying such a thing, but he is reason enough.

Right. So here we go. Manfully, I square my shoulders and pound on Hermione's door with a clenched fist.

"Hermione! It's me, Harry. Open up!"

I announce myself with more authority and confidence than I am actually feeling. In truth my heart is pounding so hard I am surprised it doesn't hurt and my legs feel weak to the point I am afraid I will actually have to brace myself against the wall to support my own weight.

I close my eyes and listen as Hermione's footsteps, quick and even, sound a march toward the door. It is her all business walk, the one that announces to anyone who can see her that she is on a mission and not to be waylaid. Her arms will be straight and swing at her sides with each step, her chin tilted just slightly toward her chest, and a frown will be furrowing her brows.

Funny I can tell all that just by the sound of her footsteps.

The door opens without hesitation, surprising me a little, and then I see Hermione looking up at me from the shadowed hall. It's been just two weeks but the sight of Hermione sends a shock through my system, like I've wrapped my hand around an electric fence. I don't know why it should be this way, I have looked at her a thousand times since I realized I was in love with her and not felt quite this breathless. A little breathless, sure, but not like this. And it's not as if she is wearing anything particularly revealing to cause all this internal fuss. No, Hermione looks much as she normally does. She is dressed comfortably in a pair of chocolate brown corduroy paints and a pink polo shirt with her hair pulled back in a ponytail that is secured at the base of her neck. Wisps of brown curls stick out around her head, framing her face, and I imagine they bounced loose as she marched around her apartment this morning. My fingers twitch at my side and I wish I had the unspoken permission needed to reach out and touch.

Maybe it's different because I know I can lose her now. Or maybe it's because this is the first time we've been face to face since that night. My feelings have been revealed, I am an open book, and when Hermione looks at me she knows. It makes me feel as exposed as I have ever been and, despite my current uncertainty, it seems like a good thing. Either way, all I can think is that I would happily look just at Hermione for the rest of my life. As long as I didn't have to look at her being with another man, of course.

"Hi, Harry," she says, her voice careful. She looks me up and down with worried eyes and I fight the urge to fidget. "You haven't been drinking again, have you?"

"What?"

I look down to examine my appearance, slightly offended by her insinuation. Unfortunately there seems to be just cause for Hermione's assumption and I shift from being offended to more than a little horrified. Not that my haggard appearance is all my fault. In my own defense there was not a cloud in the sky when I woke up this morning. With warm sunlight flooding my windows, I considered it redundant to check the forecast. Unfortunately such neglect means I left the house without an umbrella and no longer resemble the well-groomed man I was just three hours and one thunderstorm ago. In fact, as with my last visit, I bear more than a passing resemblance to a beggar; my t-shirt is wrinkled and spotted with rain, my pants have a hole in the knee caused by a fall taken on the wet pavement, and my hair is plastered flat against my head and hangs in front of my eyes. Perhaps I should have done something about this.

Once again, in my haste to speak with Hermione I forgot that packaging is part of a well advertised product.

"I do look a fright, don't I?" Self-consciously I remove my glasses and run a hand through my hair to get it off my face. I don't bother trying to make it looks presentable, I don't have a mirror and such an attempt would be in vain anyway. I only hope it doesn't dry in some oddly winged shape while I am still within sight of Hermione. I flatten my hand against my head and hold it down for a count of three for good measure.

Hermione doesn't answer, probably assuming my question was rhetorical. "How did you know I was back in town?"

"Back in town?" I blink at her and shove my glasses back on my nose "I didn't know you were gone. Should I have?"

"No, probably not."

Definitely a stilted exchange. This is not going well, not that I entertained any expectations otherwise. We stare at each other and the moment is as uncomfortable as I have been dreading, though perhaps more so for me than Hermione. She seems collected, not angry or irritated, as she gazes at me in what I can only describe as a speculative way. Her eyes are direct and unfathomable and I would give all the money in my Gringott's vault to know what she is thinking.

Looking at her, I decide the direct approach I had settled on might not be wise.

"Where were you?" I hope a harmless conversation will combat the awkwardness. It has not escaped my notice that she has not invited me inside or given any indication that she is glad to see me.

She ignores my question and asks one of her own.

"What are you doing here, Harry?"

My mouth goes dry and I shrug. So much for the not direct approach.

"It's been two weeks since...well – you know." I can't bring myself to say it, not yet, not with her mood still so uncertain. "I haven't seen you since, Hermione. I thought you might be avoiding me. But I thought – I thought it was important that we talk." I swallow. "Just so there aren't any misunderstandings."

It's not exactly what I want to say. I want to ask her why she said she would come to see me but then didn't. I want to ask if my words had any effect on her whatsoever. I want to tell Hermione I have lived the last two weeks in absolute agony. That I have stared out my front window like some pathetically hopeful dog waiting for his owner – the individual who gives his life it's very meaning – to come home and put and end to his lonely misery. Not that I want to imply that my home is Hermione's home, or that I have been at all obsessive during these past two weeks. But some truths just can't be denied, even to one's self.

I watch Hermione for any type of reaction but, if anything, her expression become even more unreadable. After a slight hesitation she nods her head in a bracing sort of way. "You're right, we do need to talk." She steps back from the entryway and gestures me inside.

Despite the sense of foreboding that washes over me, I breathe a mental sigh of relief. At least she is barring me from the premises altogether.

After I step inside she leads me to the kitchen and pours me a glass of juice before disappearing down the hall. This feels like deja vu. Her footsteps echo away from me but her flat is otherwise silent and I know without having to ask that Krum is not here. The wave of relief is a physical sensation and I smile gratefully. For the moment there is one less thing to worry about.

When Hermione returns she has a fluffy bathroom towel in her hands. She gives it to me with a small smile and then goes to lean against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms beneath her chest and looking at my steadily. She looks menacing. Not on purpose, I'm sure. It's just that right now, standing inside her flat sandwiched between what I've already said and what needs to be said, everything about Hermione is intimidating.

Discomfited, I remove my glasses and wipe at my face until it is completely dry. Then I scrub at my hair, the back of my neck, my arms and hands. Every exposed bit of skin gets a thorough rub down. Then, just in case Hermione has any doubts about whether or not I'm stalling, I pick up my glass of juice and drink the entire contents without taking a breath.

The problem, of course, the sticking point, is that this is it. This is where I go for broke. There is a part of me, a rather large part, that wants to grovel at Hermione's feet, beg her forgiveness, and promise to forget this whole fiasco ever happened. It won't be how I truly feel, but it may just preserve our friendship. But it wouldn't be honest and I think Hermione – and I – deserve that.

Glass empty, I set it down and move stand on the other side of the table. I want to give Hermione her space, no sense crowding a woman who may or may not want you to be crowding her . She certainly looks wary enough and I wonder if she already knows what I am going to say. I wouldn't be surprised.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." They are the first words that come to mind, what I have been thinking and feeling for fourteen days. An apology for what I have said and what I will continue to say. "I put you in a very awkward position and I am so sorry. I was drunk and -" I shake my head and stare at my feet, hoping I can find the right words.

"And you didn't mean it." Hermione's soft voice breaks into my thoughts.

I look up sharply at her words, as if a bee has stung my backside. I search her expression but as has been the case for most of my visit, Hermione's face is serene. Why did she have to pick now to become so enigmatic? It makes me want to punch and inanimate object.

Instead I decide to be more constructive with my time and take a moment to play her words over again in my mind, studying them, examining her tone of voice and inflection. I wish I had been looking up so I could have seen her face as she spoke. As it is, I can't decide if that is what she thinks I was going to say or if it is what she is suggesting I say, so we can better put this incident behind us.

Hermione seems to mistake my silent contemplation for agreement and sighs so quietly I almost don't hear it. Her head gives a tiny shake and she lifts her hand, like she is going to pinch the bridge of her nose, but changes her mind and grips the counter behind her with both hands instead.

"It's okay, Harry. I understand, you know," she says with a firm nod. "It was bound to happen."

Now that is interesting. I will be the first to admit that a lot of the things Hermione has ever said to me didn't make sense on the first go round. Though I pride myself on knowing such moments have come fewer and far between over the years, I am definitely in the middle of one now.

I take a step around the table and rest my hip against it. "What do you understand?" I ask, sure that whatever it is, it isn't what I understand.

"You were drunk. It was reasonable that -" Hermione trails off and her eyes dart to the floor and then back to me. She takes a steadying breath and when she speaks again her voice is firmer, like she has more confidence in what she is saying. "Alcohol is a depressant, Harry. With Ron and I both getting married and you breaking up with Ginny..." Hermione shrugs and smiles with gentle sympathy. "Something like this was a definite possibility."

My mouth opens and closes without sound. Well that certainly answers one question. She definitely thinks I didn't mean it. Does this mean there's the possibility she wishes I had? The thought makes me giddy. I push away from the table and take another step toward her, trying not to let myself hope too much.

"So it was a case of what? Poor, drunk Harry? Pathetic, lonely Harry?"

My words sound harsh but there's no rancor in my voice. I need the full picture, not prevarications and half-truths meant to spare my feelings. I only want to know what misconceptions I'm dealing with. Hermione, though, manages to look defensive.

"There's nothing 'just' about it, Harry. I'm not trying to marginalize your feelings."

"I know that," I assure her. I take another step toward her and run a hand through my damp hair. Here we go. "Is that...is that how you want things to be?"

Hermione straightens and she looks so suddenly vulnerable that I want nothing more than to take her in my arms. Two more steps is all it would take to close the distance between us, but I don't want to push her. By the time I decide touching Hermione now would be a bad idea she has brought her expression back to one of passive observation.

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" she challenges, suddenly lifting her chin.

"Hermione." I shake my head. "I broke up with Ginny months ago. And, if I'm honest, we'd been growing apart for a lot longer than that." I decide to take another step forward and wait for her to flinch or, worse, bolt. She doesn't move but she doesn't fully meet my eyes either. Her gaze jumps between mine and a point somewhere beyond my left shoulder. I clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out and cupping her chin, forcing her to look at me.

"Ginny is not my problem, Hermione. And neither is Ron."

She doesn't ask me who is, she just stares past my shoulder with eyes as large and round as snitches. At any other time I might believe her avoiding my gaze was her way of silently pleading with me to not say anything more. And maybe that is exactly what she wants. But thirty seconds ago I saw a chink in her armor, I saw a look that said she is afraid to hope I care the way I said I do.

And that's enough for me.

"I meant what I said, Hermione. I'm sorry I was drunk, I wish I hadn't been, and maybe I'm too late but -" I shake my head again. "The only thing that brought me to your door that night was you. I love you, Hermione. And this might be the last thing you want to hear, but it was now or never, you know? I spent years fighting how I felt. Because of our friendship, because of Ginny, because of Krum, because I was afraid. I'm can't fight it anymore. I don't want to."

I stop, feeling out of breath and light headed, and stare in nervous silence at a Hermione who looks like a statue. She begins to blink furiously and suddenly I notice tears wetting her eyes. Are those happy tears? Sad ones? I can't tell and her silence is killing me. I don't know what else I need to say to get her to say something, be it good or bad.

I open my mouth to say something when Hermione interrupts me.

"You meant it?" She grabs my wrist and yanks me toward her, erasing the distance that remains between us. Her eyes search my face. "You really meant it? You love me?"

The cautious hope in her voice makes my heart race.

"Yes, Hermione. Of course I meant it."

Hermione launches herself against me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Caught off guard I stumble backward but regain my balance after two quick steps and return her embrace. For a moment all I can feel is shock. Does this mean what I think it means? Am I really this lucky? I stare without blinking at the cupboards behind Hermione's head and have to shake myself when I realize she is speaking.

"Oh, Harry," she says, breathless with emotion. "I love you, too. I've loved you for so long it's almost embarrassing to admit it. But I never thought you could feel the same. To know that you do..." she swallows hard and laughs, "to know that you do is the best feeling I've ever had."

"I know what you mean." And I do. I look down into Hermione's laughing, tear streaked face and I smile so wide my face should probably hurt. I think I could dance a jig. Maybe bounce around the kitchen belting a soaring show tune at the top of my lungs. Does that seem ridiculous? Probably to most people, but not to me. Not right now. I feel giddy, bursting with excitement and the desire to just do something, anything to release the overpowering rush of adrenaline that is making my hands shake. I want to run to the window, throw it open, and yell to the street below that Hermione Granger loves me. I want to bar all the doors, pull the telephone from the wall, board up the fireplace, and spend a few days, weeks, or months alone with Hermione. But, most of all, I want to kiss her. I am fairly certain I have never wanted anything so much in my entire life. I look down at her lips and know instinctively that hers will be the softest I have ever touched. And even though I want to get to that touching immediately, something is holding me back. The last, fairly significant, road block to spending the rest of my life with this woman.

Not that I want to bring Krum into the conversation. Not only is his name a bit of a mood killer but there's also the not inconsiderable amount of guilt I feel where he is concerned. Enrollment at Durmstrang to the contrary, all the guy's ever done is care about Hermione and I'm definitely the last man on earth who can fault him for that. Why couldn't Hermione have been dating someone like Malfoy?

I shudder involuntarily. Never mind that thought.

"What about Krum?" I ask, returning to the subject at hand. I have no idea how Hermione will react to my bringing him up so I voice the question as gently as I can.

But Hermione doesn't seem fazed by the mention of her fiancé. In fact, besides the blink and you miss it appearance of a slightly nostalgic smile, her face doesn't change at all.

"Actually," she says, her head tilting to one side, "I've sort of spoken with Viktor already."

"What?" This is not what I was expecting.

Hermione laughs at the look on my face and her amusement sends a puff of air across my cheek. The sensation, the reminder that she is close enough that I can feel her breath on my skin, sends a jolt of pleasure down my spine and a jolt of excitement somewhere else entirely. I'm more than half tempted to kiss her and end the conversation about Krum immediately. But we do need to talk about him. Thankfully, extensive practice at controlling myself around Hermione makes it possible for me to curb my baser impulse. For the time being.

"The day after you showed up..." Hermione shakes her head. "I had a lot of thinking to do, obviously. That's why I didn't come visit you immediately. I'd planned on it, but after a night spent pacing my bedroom I knew I needed more time to wrap my head around a few things. I'm sorry," she gives me a small squeeze, "I should have let you know."

"It's okay," I assure her. "You had a lot on your mind, no thanks to me."

Hermione levels me with a look that says I'm an idiot. "I'm glad you said something, Harry. You have no idea how glad."

She squeezes me again and this time it feels possessive. I smile and think I probably have a very good idea of just how glad she is. And if she is even half as happy as I am at this moment, she is very pleased indeed.

"Anyway," she continues, "I went to visit my parents for a few days. We talked, they helped me to see a few things. And then I traveled to Bulgaria. I was there until last night."

Ah. "So, what happened?"

Hermione arm slides from around my waist and she holds up her left hand and wiggles her bare ring finger. I grab her wrist and bring the newly unadorned hand to my face so I can be properly stupefied.

"So...you're no longer engaged." I can't keep the emotion out of my voice. Gently I rub my thumb back and forth across her palm, unable to let the opportunity to caress some part of her body pass. Hermione's fingers curl reflexively and I press a soft kiss against her knuckles. The part of my mind occupied by guilt over Krum whispers I am getting what I want too easily. The rest of my mind says I can feel properly guilty later, preferably when Hermione is not standing in my arms.

"What made you decide..." I let my voice trail off, worried that question might be considered prying.

"Well, you know I didn't take you seriously but..." Hermione shakes her head and smiles with shy embarrassment. "I knew from how much I wanted you to mean it that I wasn't being fair to Viktor." Hermione shrugs and leans against me, pressing her cheek into my shoulder. "I went to Bulgaria and we...we talked about it. About our feelings, that is. We decided that we care about each other, very much, but we deserve more. Want more for each other and ourselves."

Hermione is silent a moment.

"Does that make sense?"

Perfect sense. I nod and marvel at their maturity. I don't know if I would have been able to let go of Hermione so quickly and it makes me feel the tiniest bit ashamed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. It must have been difficult for you."

"It was," Hermione agrees, her voice is muffled against the fabric of my shirt and the feel of her lips moving against me is captivating. "But it was the right thing to do. And necessary, really. We both just want the other to be happy."

"Viktor's a good man." And I thank Merlin for it.

"He is." Hermione breathes a deep sigh then chuckles softly. "He knew I was talking about you."

"What?"

Hermione leans away from me but her hands remain around my waist. In fact, her fingers begin to play nervously with one of my belt loops. I decide not to bring attention to it in case mentioning it makes her stop.

"Viktor knew you were part of the reason for my impromptu visit. Our conversation started out with broad, hypothetical scenarios but it got specific quick enough. He said he knew the second I arrived that I was having second thoughts. And then he said he knew why."

"He knew I visited you?" Had my feelings for Hermione been so transparent?

"No. He told me he knew that if I was having second thoughts they would be because of my feelings for you."

Her feelings for me. I can't get over it and can tell it's going to take a long time for that particular truth to finally sink in.

"Poor Viktor," I murmur. "He's known it all along, then."

Hermione looks at me with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean?"

That's right. For some reason I never thought to tell her about that particular conversation. I wonder why not.

"Remember when you two were seeing each other during the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Of course."

"Well, I never told you this," I hesitate, not sure whether I should feel bad about not spilling this years ago, "but he confronted me about you."

"What?" Hermione looks slightly dumbfounded.

"Yeah. It was right after we learned about the third task, when we found Barty Crouch in the forest. Do you remember?"

"Vaguely."

"Right before we found Crouch, Viktor told me he wanted to speak with me privately." I smile at the memory, at how shocked I was to learn he thought of me as true competition for something. "He pulled me off the beaten path and demanded to know what was going on between us."

"He did not." Hermione looks slightly horrified.

"He did." My smile turns smug, I can't help it. "He told me you couldn't stop talking about me."

Hermione blushes, looking adorable in the process. Once again the urge to kiss her is nearly overpowering. I don't, but my rapidly dwindling tank of reserve is almost empty. To compensate I begin trailing my hands lightly along her back.

"Of course I talked about you all the time," she sniffs after a moment's distracted hesitation. "We were friends."

"That's exactly what I told him." I wait a beat. "I never did find out if he was worried about your friendship with Ron, though. You don't suppose Viktor confronted him too, do you?"

Hermione swats me playfully on the arm and laughs through obvious embarrassment. "Fine, be that way. I'll admit it, I did like you then. More than I should have considering you had a definite type."

While part of me has suspected for some time that Hermione may have liked me back at Hogwarts, I don't like having it confirmed. It makes me feel like an idiot, a first class jerk who doesn't deserve his current good fortune. The thought of Hermione wishing she could be with me while I was off chasing Cho and Ginny actually makes me hurt.

"I was a blind bastard -"

"Harry!" Hermione puts her fingers across my lips and fights a smile. "Stop it. You're being too hard on yourself. Let's not worry about the past. Instead we can just both agree that you've become a much wiser man."

"Okay." I lean forward and brush my lips against Hermione's. "Thank you," I whisper.

"For what?"

"For being in my life. For saving it over and over again. And for being my friend. Loving me." I unwrap my arms from around Hermione's waist and clasp both of her hands in mine, linking our fingers. "And, most importantly, for staying unmarried just long enough for me to get it together."

"If you're thanking me for all that, then I should be thanking you, too."

I shake my head. Hermione doesn't need to thank me for anything, and it's high time I showed her some appreciation for everything she's been to me. For me.

"I know it will probably take some time for you to get over Viktor but I thought you should know, Ron told me no sane woman leaves another man for a tumble."

Hermione searches my eyes and smiles in confusion. "Really? And what does that mean, exactly?"

I sigh, like I am making a big sacrifice while inside I am terrified of freaking her out. Oh well. I have to say it.

"It means that in order to do the honorable thing and protect your sanity, I'll have to marry you."

Hermione doesn't freak out, she doesn't even speak. Instead her smile widens and I swear her eyes darken and seem suddenly softer.

Finally, she tilts her head to one side and asks, "Is that so?"

I nod.

"My sanity is very grateful." Hermione grips my hands tightly and rises to her tiptoes, kissing me once then twice. Her lips are so soft and when she tugs gently on my bottom lip I think my heart is going to explode. She starts to pull away but I follow her retreat, cradling her chin with one hand while wrapping my other arm around her waist to keep her body flush against mine. Hermione makes a sound deep in her throat and clutches at the back of my neck.

How long we continue like this I have no idea. And I don't care. Time is made meaningless by the feel of her skin beneath my hands, obliterated by the scorching heat of her lips. I am too caught up in the joy of living this moment and discovering that the reality of being able to be like this with Hermione is better than any daydream I've ever had. There is no possible way I will ever get enough.

When I do pull back, my breathing rough and uneven, I am assailed by doubt. Hermione looks...well...like she's been attacked. Her cheeks are flushed and pink, her lips are swollen, and her hair has been pulled loose of her ponytail. Ten minutes ago didn't I intend to be considerate of her break up with Krum? Am I nothing but a beast? Sure, Hermione seemed to enjoy it, but hadn't she started to pull away before I attacked her?

Shame battles my arousal but I am only too certain which will win in the long run. I am a beast. Perhaps sweet, mostly chaste kisses are all we should allow ourselves for the time being. Hermione will have to set the boundaries, I decide. I obviously can't be trusted.

Some of what I am thinking must show on my face because Hermione gives me a reassuring, well-pleased smile. The foot of distance between us is instantly closed and her body is molding itself to mine once again. My ragged breathing stops altogether.

"If I recall," she says, her lips only a breath from mine, "last time you were here you mentioned something about reading a book."

Oh, yes, I will be very happy to let Hermione dictate where we go from here. I scrunch my forehead and pretend to think. "Did I?"

"You did," Hermione assures me.

"Funny, I don't recall."

She slides her hands around my waist, dipping beneath my shirt to glide her fingers along my bare skin. "Lucky for you I remember it rather distinctly."

"Was it a specific book, then?"

"Quite. You said something about getting a look at all those pages you'd never seen before."

"Ah. That actually rings a bell." I am surprised I still have the power of speech. Heck, I am surprised I haven't passed out.

"Unless, of course, you'd like to change your mind?"

"Oh, definitely not." I assure her. I grab Hermione's waist, settle her on the kitchen counter and step between her knees. "In fact, I think I should get started right now." I lean toward her. "And I'm not going to stop until I've read every last word."

I close the distance between our lips, marvel at the feel of her hand sliding through my hair, and kiss her again.