Disclaimer:  This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Warning:  Explicit sexual activity between consenting minors.  Age ain't nothin' but a number people!

Hermione's POV

            I hadn't slept well in months.  The stress of beginning fifth year, along with the events at the end of the TriWizard tournament had really taken a toll everyone, and I was feeling the burning of the candle from both ends.

 Coming back from summer holidays, we were all a bit taken aback by the differences in our appearances.  Harry and I spent the last three weeks of the summer at the Burrow with the Weasley clan.  Harry had lost much of the roundness in his face, making him look even more like his father, the planes and angles of his jaw and cheek bones highlighting the haunted look about his eyes.  He had also grown several inches and that, along with his unkempt black hair, gave him a very imposing figure, almost Snape-like in intensity.

Ron was much more subdued this year; he spent more time playing chess with Harry than ever, rarely pulling pranks or getting into mischief with Fred and George.  He'd grown taller as well, out reaching Harry by a couple of inches.  The brassy red of his hair was settling into a more auburn color and he'd gained some muscle tone working the loading docks at Flourish and Blotts over the summer.  He'd tried out and made the Quidditch house team this year – our keeper.  More and more, Ron was maturing into a very responsible wizard, and one of my best friends.

Most of the students in our year had lost their baby fat and had grown a bit.  Neville Longbottom had thinned out quite a bit and had begun dating Pavarti Patil during our second week back.  I felt good for Neville; he deserved some happiness in his life.  Of course, Draco Malfoy was still the same slimy little git he'd been since day one.  I was happy to note that he hadn't grown more than an inch or two over the holiday.

We all felt older, certainly.  The shadow of Cedric Diggory loomed large in everyone's mind, though no one seemed to want to discuss it. 

Especially Harry.  Ron said he'd tried more than twice to bring the subject up and give Harry a chance to talk about it.  He hadn't, but was having tremendous nightmares that kept the dormitories up more nights than not.  The screams penetrated even Professor Flitwick's best silencing charms, filling the air with muffled moans and wails. 

For all Harry's problems, he actually acted as if he was on an even keel most of the time.  He did scream at Colin and Dennis Creevey for following him around, but mostly he answered people's queries and smiled at the jokes as would seem normal.

But he was quite depressed.  Ron and I could see the tension in his shoulders and the hollows in his eyes.  We were becoming worried that Harry would do something drastic if he didn't find someone to confide in, even if it wasn't us.  Visits to Dumbledore's office (which we made after any particularly bad night of screaming from Harry's bed) were fruitless, as the Professor seemed to think Harry'd work it all out.

So it was unusual that the night was utterly silent.  I threw my quilt back and came out of bed, donning a light robe to cover my thin nightgown.  I grabbed my copy of 'Hogwarts, A History' hoping that a review of the last 500 years would be just the thing to send me off to dreamless sleep in front of the fire.

            Dismounting the stairs, I saw the fire still burning brightly in the grate.  Coming around the back of the sofa, I found Harry sitting there, his sock feet extended as he slumped into the cushions.  He was still dressed, his tie and glasses on the end table beside him. 

            "What are you doing?" I asked.

            He looked at me morosely.  "Letting the house get a little sleep.  What're you doing up?"

            "Too quiet."  I came round and sat down next to him.  For several minutes we sat there, saying nothing.  Although I'd known Harry for more than four years, I couldn't think of anything that would get him to open up and share whatever had been tormenting him.  His eyes had turned to muddy green and were sunken into their sockets from lack of sleep.  I was truly scared for him to have to endure what had happened with only his thoughts alone for comfort.

            "He wanted me to have the Cup all to myself, you know that, don't you?" Harry turned his face to me briefly, then returned it to the flames.

            "Harry –"

            "- But I insisted that we both take it at the same time, so we could be dual victors.  I wanted to be sure that everything was fair, and since he'd gotten to the cup at the same time I did…well, it was my sense of parity got Cedric killed."

            "Tell me, Harry."

            Staring deeply into the flames, he started talking about entering the labyrinth, all of the animals and challenges he'd met, slowly at first, then the words started to flow out of him like a floodwall had burst.  The discussion.  The port key trophy.  Cedric's death.  I laid my hand over his as he spoke quietly.

            I was shocked at Voldemort's cruelty as well as Harry's conviction that he could have done something to prevent Cedric's death.  He recounted the meeting of his and Voldemort's wands and the incredible events that occurred while they were connected.

            "…and then Cedric's ghost – he – it – asked me, asked –" his face contorted with the memory.  He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.  I rubbed his back as he struggled to maintain composure. 

            Finally he raised his head and sat back.  "After that, what could I do?  I'd already killed him –"

            "Harry –"

            "Don't tell me it isn't my fault.  I'm to blame for so much, so many –" his face crumpled as he began to cry in earnest.  I pulled him into my embrace as he cried, great wracking sobs that shook through us both.  Tears coursed down my face as I realized what he'd been reliving in his mind every day and night, and how wrong he was about his role in meeting Voldemort.

            I held him until he was calmer, his shuddering breaths more regular before I spoke.

            "Harry, you are wrong.  You were, and are, the savior of the wizarding world.  Probably of the entire world.  If you hadn't lived that night, destroyed Voldemort's power, no one could have stopped him.  Not even Dumbledore.  You have saved more lives than anyone.  You can't change what happened.  You didn't know."

            "I should have guessed.  I shouldn't have been so willing –"

            "Could you have grabbed that cup in front of Cedric, thinking at the time that you would have to face him in the Great Hall, knowing he got there first?"

            "I don't know," he sighed. "No."

            I ran my hand through his hair, a motion to soothe his disquieted thoughts, the smooth strands flowing over my fingers.  He sighed again and relaxed into me.  I understood that he wanted to be held, so I held him, laying my head on top of his, our arms around each other. 

            We stayed like that for an eternity, it seemed, although it may have been as short as fifteen minutes.  His heart thudded through his light sweater, his breath alternately warming and cooling the damp spots left by his tears.  I shivered slightly at the sensation, drawing another sigh from him.  Instinctively I kissed the top of his head, remembering how reassuring it felt to me.

            Slowly his head came up from my shoulder.  I angled my head back slightly to meet his eyes.  They were still cloudy, but there was a strange look in them as he gazed at me.  I became aware that we were staring at each other, eyes moving over the other's face.  Without thinking, I dipped my head and captured his lips to mine.  His eyes fluttered closed and his head tipped back to press his lips more firmly to mine.

            I shut my eyes and concentrated on the feel of his lips against mine, slightly wind-roughened and salty, certainly male.  He squeezed his arms around me, sitting erect, his lips now above mine, pressing with a light suction.  I allowed my lips to go slack and I was surprised when the kiss didn't end, but became deeper.  He tentatively touched his tongue to my lips.

            Somewhere in the corner of my mind I knew this was a psychological reaction to verbal intimacy, but I was reacting outside of thought.  My tongue met his and our mutual gasps were loud in the quiet of the common room.  He sealed our lips together, exploring the recesses of my mouth with his tongue as I opened my mouth wide to him. 

            Our mouths still fused together, I slid my hands under his jumper and oxford shirt, over his hot skin.  He made a small noise and his hand went to my nape, tilting me forward.  His other hand was resting on the curve of my waist, moving up and down a few inches.

            I broke the kiss first.  Breathing heavily, I grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it up and over his head, watching as his hair resettled.  Nibbling at his lips, I worked the buttons of his shirt until it hung loose.  My hands began a new tracing of his chest; Harry released a low groan into my mouth.

            "Hermione," he said in a gruff voice I didn't recognize.

            "What?" I responded in a husky voice I didn't recognize.

            "I think we should stop."

            "No."

            "No?"

            "I want this."

            Later I would replay this scene over and over again, wondering what possessed me to offer myself to him.  Possibly I thought that stopping at that point would be too awkward, just as awkward as if we'd gone all the way anyhow.  Possibly because I wanted to take his mind off of his anguish for a little while.  Hell, possibly because I was in love with Harry and not sure how to show it.

            Emerald sparks flashed in his eyes as he opened the tie of my robe.  He looked into my face before putting his lips to my neck.  His hands came up and cupped my breasts, which were already peaked from the feel of his breath on me.  He brushed his thumbs back and forth over the crests and I arched forward to give him better access. 

            I pulled him down over me when his lips returned to mine.  He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at me.

            "Are you sure?" he panted lightly.

            "Yes." I could feel his hardness pressing through his trousers and into my cleft.  Small shards of dread were creeping up my spine, disrupting the tingling desire enveloping me, and I had to steel my resolve to go through with this.

            "It'll hurt."

            "I know."

            "I'll be gentle."

            He kissed me over and over until I felt dizzy and my fears faded to a small space in my mind.  I ground my hips into his; he lifted the hem of my nightgown, kissing, laving and suckling my breasts until I was writhing under him, wanting him to assuage the tension growing between my legs. 

            I fumbled with his belt buckle but managed to get it undone.  Between the two of us, we got the button open and zipper down.  I reached out to grasp his prick in my hand, stroking it experimentally.  Breath hissing, Harry pushed the fabric from his pelvic area and down his legs. 

            He slanted forward and hooked his fingers into the waistband of my panties.  "This is it, Hermione.  If you want me to stop at any time, tell me and I will."

            I shook my head, but the fact was that I seriously doubted my decision.  It was on the tip of my tongue to call the whole thing off when he touched me.  Down there.  In just the right spot.  My legs fell apart naturally as he fingered my clit; my cries were muffled by the pressure of his mouth on mine.  And when he slid a finger into me, I could stand no more.  I bucked against it, loving the feel of it, the threads of pleasure swirling into my belly.  My fingers moved on his cock in rhythm with his movements.

            He removed his finger and I would have cried out for him to continue, but he shifted his weight and settled between my thighs.  All of the air left my lungs, replaced by gut-wrenching fear.  With shaking fingers, I guided him to my entrance, then looked into his face.

            "I'll try not to hurt you," he said, the lines of his face hard with pent-up tension.

            "It's okay.  Just do it."

            I forced myself to keep my eyes open while he penetrated me, but when he gave the final push, my eyes screwed shut against the burning pain that lanced through me.  Harry began to move over me, carefully and slowly.  The pain began to diminish almost immediately, leaving me feeling full as I felt Harry's prick against my tight walls.

            I pulled my legs back and was rewarded when Harry went deeper inside.  I opened my eyes to see Harry over me, supporting himself on his hands.  His face was taut with concentration, the cords of his neck rigid, his lower lip between his teeth as he held back, trying not to hurt me.

            "Harry," I whispered.

            He opened his eyes and looked down at me, moving even more slowly, almost at a stop.  "Yeah," he panted.

            I pulled on his arms, trying to bring him down on top of me.  "Harry, do it."

            "I don't want to hurt you."

            "You won't.  It feels good now.  Please."

            He didn't increase his pace right away, but pushed in deeper each time he thrust.  It only took a few minutes before I was moving against him, wanting more. 

            "More, Harry, faster."

            He did both.  The sensations he created in me pooled in my stomach, coiling tightly.

            "Harry…" I moaned as the coil unwound, causing me to arch and buck as my release washed over me.  The ripples seemed to go on forever until I realized that some of them belonged to Harry.

            Opening my eyes, I saw the top of Harry's head.  It came up slowly, revealing his sweaty, flushed countenance.  He laid his head back on my shoulder, and again I heard the thundering of his heart.  I smiled and ran my hands through his hair, now wet from exertion.

            "We'd better get to bed," Harry told me half an hour later.  "It'll be sunup in less than an hour." 

            "Okay."  I pulled the lapels of my robe together and stretched as I stood.  We kissed softly as we parted ways for our respective dormitories.

            "Hermione?"

            "Yes?"

            "Thanks for listening.  For everything." He smiled at her.

            "I'd do anything for you, Harry."

            His face turned serious.  "I know.  You'd do anything.  I'd do anything for you."

            "I know."

            We both turned and walked up the stairs.