A/N: Written for Age of Potter 2018. A just-for-funsies-contribution as I helped my dear friend Kaarina Riddle admin the comp. Still, you know I can't pass up the opportunity to do Regency! Check out the fest winner— ninjafairy86's— awesome tomione and all of the other super dope af contributions. This will be a multi-chapter fic-I have 10 chapters plotted. I should be posting the second chapter within the week *fingers crossed* To the WC fans—ch23 is halfway written and I hope to send it to my beta this week as well! Characters may be OOC given the situation, but I try to keep them as close to character as I see them. Bingblot has a wonderful Regency harmony and it's an epic-length, complete fic. I definitely take inspiration from that story and HIGHLY recommend it. I assure you-aside from the "we must marry" Regency trope-this one will be different. I tend to write Harrys not every harmony fan likes, so I'm warning you now—I like an edgy/possessive/borderline asshole/borderline manipulative/possibly-affected-by-horcruxes Harry. I mean, I write dramione/tomione so it shouldn't be that surprising *winks* Cover made by me and full version uploaded to Pinterest. Hope you enjoy Xx

Alpha love: Thank you to the lovely Elle Morgan-Black for looking over this first chapter!

Prompt: Hermione believes herself doomed to forever pine after the man she could never have—war hero Harry Potter—and the greatest wizard of his time. As a muggle-born and believing herself to be no great beauty, she can only entertain such notions of marriage in her fantasies—a secret she'll carry to her grave. Fortune smiles down on her when an unexpected opportunity falls in her lap and she finds the object of her affections begging for her hand in marriage. Fortunate... so long as he never finds out her secret.

Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.

Warnings: This is a Regency alternate-universe and with that comes typical period sexism. Additionally, characters may be slightly OOC due to the era in which this story takes place. I already warned about the liberties I take with Harry. Hermione may be slightly muted—suppressed by the time and her blood status as she is. You may find a lot of angst, frustrating miscommunication, lots of forbidden-ness, lust potions, and maybe even some sexual manipulation—I'm not above using any/all of these things!

~oOo*oOo~

Hermione watched Harry crest the grassy knoll as he drew closer to her. His movements were lithe and graceful like she'd imagine a wildcat's to be. He didn't walk so much as he prowled. Even from this distance, the piercing green of his eyes skewered her with its intensity. His hair - as dark as a moonless night - stood out against his alabaster skin. Even more enticing was the power that clung to his person in a nebulous, raw fury. Merlin, but she could sense his energy from here. It only grew larger the nearer he drew.

Lord Harry Potter.

War Hero and Defeater of Voldemort.

Her very best friend.

So loyal to a fault, he would even still deign to be friends with her - a mere Muggle-born - as lowly and as common as the dirt residing on the ground. Yet still he flashed her that brilliant smile - the one that made her heart clench in her chest. The one that made her pulse stutter in her wrists. The one she had no right to be the recipient of. The one he was giving her now. Even now she could make out the gaggle of girls he'd left behind at the manor in his pursuit of her. How they hated her. How she could understand the depth of their hatred. Harry was a prize and he'd yet to declare interest in any eligible witch. The only girl he talked to on a regular basis seemed to be Hermione, however strange a happenstance that was.

But they had a history—so there was that.

"Miss Granger." He was there, right there before her, and he was capturing her hand in his, sweeping his lips down to place a chaste kiss on the outside of her curled fingers where the material of her gloves cut off. "Aren't you a sight?"

Harry, her heart sang. "My Lord," she curtseyed, remembering propriety. They were no longer on the run and away from the watchful eye of the public. Society and it's oppressive rules reigned supreme in Ottery St Catchpole. She injected her voice with false pleasantness. "What could possibly motivate you to break away from your adoring friends?"

"The desire to seek out my best friend, of course." He darted his gaze to meet hers, his eyes sharp and not missing a thing, especially her deception. "I don't like to see you off by yourself," he reminded her quietly as he had countless times before. "Just here, lingering in the shadows. You should be around people."

They hate me, Harry, she wanted to explain to him. They only tolerate my presence because of you. Really, they want nothing to do with me. I don't belong here - in High Society - I'm supposed to be with my own kind. Instead of burdening him with the melancholy she felt, she forced her tone lighthearted and carefree. "I'm hardly social like you and Ronald. I clam up around other people rather spectacularly." She smiled and ducked away, facing the line of trees opposite of the manor and making a valiant effort to contain her composure, but the insufferable man didn't allow her to turn away from him.

He circled around her and grasped her shoulders and squeezed. Then he let his hands trail down - one to her waist and the other to her wrist - before leading her to the cover of a majestic beech tree and pulling her down beside him. She was acutely aware of his touch, however light it was.

She could do nothing but comply. He was always her one and only weakness. She'd never been capable of denying him anything. So though the more rational portion of her mind may have wanted to point out that being alone together was not suitable for their reputations - certainly not for hers - she couldn't resist following him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth.

"Hermione," he said affectionately, and it didn't escape her how improper such a use of her first name sounded. They were no longer on the run - no longer hunting horcruxes or fighting Death Eaters. Society's rules had to be adhered to. His fingertips ran soothing circles into the skin of her wrist and she fought to keep her eyelashes from fluttering shut in delightful bliss. "How I've missed you." The pressure from his fingertips increased, sending titillating tingles radiating from her wrist all the way to her chest. "You've no idea how it's been adjusting to life on the outside. I bloody hate it. After a whole year? I got used to your cooking… used to your reading… used to your company. The fact that I can only see you for brief periods of time and under the watchful eye of some obese, nosy, old maid…"

Hermione chuckled as she thought of Duchess Umbridge.

"It kills me. You would think being the Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World I'd be granted some allowances. That I'd be permitted to see my friends, at the very least. But no. I've been shuffled around from one place to the next so fast it makes my head spin." The warm comfort of his large hand left her waist to rifle through his hair, and she mourned the loss even as she tried to keep from staring at the side of his face. "And you should be there with me - not just Ronald - but you. I know you were at the beginning, but you still should be. Do these ungrateful gits not realize if it weren't for you they'd be paying taxes to a new ruler right now? A ruler who would demand blood in his monthly stipends? It's utter fuckery." His eyes widened and he clapped his mouth shut with his hand, a sheepish grin creeping around his fingers. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Her breathing hastened. She did so love it when he forgot himself and used obscenities around her. He and Ronald grew so accustomed to her presence, they used to do it all the time during their seventh year spent traveling as if a lady weren't even present. It made her insides heat up for some unfathomable reason she couldn't quite understand. She only wanted him to do it again. But gentlemen didn't curse in front of ladies - and despite being Muggle-born - she still was a lady.

"I'm just a bit out of sorts, is all. It's this adjusting back to regular life. Trying to accept there's no danger anymore. I know you understand." He flashed her another one of his trademark, devastatingly handsome smiles. "You always get everything," he reached over to affectionately ruffle her hair over her hat and she once again fought to remain in control of her reactions. Harry was only treating her as a friend would—as he would Ronald or someone equally as close, only he seemed to forget she was a member of the opposite sex. "I just—," he broke away to glare at the woods lining the manor as if they had somehow personally offended him, "everything is so different now."

"Lord Harry—."

"Please, Hermione. Not while we're alone."

When he looked at her with those wide green eyes, she could deny him nothing. "Harry," she amended. "I'm so sorry you've had trouble adjusting. Britain owes you everything." She didn't bother burdening him with the fact that she couldn't find a flat in a suitable district to live in. That no company wished to hire her regardless of her NEWT scores and she was finding it difficult to locate work anywhere, even if she was a war hero. She couldn't even get a job in the lower levels of Gringotts as a novice Cursebreaker, though Ronald had promised to put in a good word to his brother. Still, all her troubles seemed to fade into the background when Harry started speaking. He consumed every waking thought, and there wasn't much room left for her.

"Women bloody throw themselves at me. It's revolting." He pressed his lips in a petulant line. "Ronald likes it well enough, but I can do without their attention. They all want something from me… and I'm loathe to give it. I won't find myself enslaved to the wiles of a female. That's hardly what I spent the last seven years fighting to do."

A lump formed in her throat. "I'm sure Ronald doesn't find himself enslaved with each and every witch he beds," she said before she could stop herself. "He seems quite pleased with the attention."

She regretted voicing the bitter thought as soon as she felt the intensity of his emerald-hard gaze on the side of her face. He missed nothing. The sharp instincts of a dueller. It was no wonder he was accepted into the Auror program—and at such a young age to boot. It was a mistake to speak so candidly of a man's pastimes in his presence, and something no lady would do.

"It's their intentions, Hermione," he surprised her by ignoring her slip-up and instead trying to explain himself. "I don't want to bed them when they have other goals in mind—when they see me as a resource. Nothing puts the fire out more quickly than that."

A fierce blush ignited up her cheeks at the mention of bedding and she looked straight ahead, afraid to meet his eyes.

Harry swore. "I'm sorry, Hermione." He curled around to look at her, that trademark boyish grin she'd fell in love with long ago, firmly in place. "Sometimes I forget you're a girl."

She reared back as if stung.

"Damn! I'm sorry again. I keep mucking things up, don't I? What I mean is, you're just so easy to talk to—not at all like other girls. You've no idea how painful it's been being without you all this time. We've been inseparable since we were ruddy children!" His previously mischievous gaze narrowed measurably. "And now to be separated after all this time by Society and its silly rules. Well, I hate it. I miss our time together. If someone had bothered to ask me which member of the Golden Trio I'd rather be saddled with, I'd of course choose you. You know that, don't you?"

Hermione beamed, her heart lifting as if it were made of feathers. Harry smiled back at her fondly, perhaps as if she were a cute pet he wished to take away with him to his next adventure in life. It didn't matter—she wanted to go. She wanted to be with him always. And the fact that he was expressing his sorrow over missing her caused her to forget all the struggles she'd endured since coming back to the real world. He seemed to have that effect of making her forget everything. Her world always narrowed down to just him. It always had and she supposed it always would. Now that she was older—now that she had seen things she likely shouldn't have—her daydreams concerning him had taken a decidedly darker turn, but he still consumed her thoughts just as he always had. More so than ever before, even.

"I'm to marry, you know."

Just like that, Hermione felt as if she'd been lanced through the heart. She physically had to stop herself from clutching her chest, sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that blood was pouring from a gaping hole in her heart. She let it fall in a thick river trickling down to her lap and then on to the ground, purposefully ignoring it and not breaking away from the green gaze that trapped her. She refused to show a flicker of the thoughts that crossed her mind— that positively gnawed at her —as she met his hard stare.

Over the years, she'd become rather excellent at concealing her emotions from him. She was a regular bloody Slytherin.

"Oh?" She was surprised she was able to keep the tremble—even the overwhelming anguish—from her voice. Harry—married! Another woman would finally take him away from her forever. There would be no more Harry and Hermione. It simply wouldn't be tolerated by his wife.

He would be gone from her forever.

"Yes," he told her bleakly, "it's unavoidable, I'm afraid. A clause in my parent's will. Perhaps they once believed that had I been settled down with a wife I'd be of a more reliable state of mind to manage all of my responsibilities such an inheritance would bring. But they didn't stop to consider I might not be ready for marriage, or how many women would see the situation as a sodding opportunity. They couldn't have possibly anticipated how eager the Dursleys would be to get their hands on my assets should I not meet my family's requirements. It's all messed up, Hermione. They've cornered me, this time. I know my parents never meant to put me in this predicament, but with Sirius gone and Remus gone, there's no one to look out for me. I have no choice but to comply."

She thought she may choke on the tears forming in her throat. As it was, her voice came out unusually husky. "Lady Pansy has been vying for your attention. She does have a sizable dowry."

"Yes," Harry stroked his chin, drawing Hermione's attention to his barely there five-o'clock shadow. She remembered when he started shaving in fifth year which seemed like a lifetime ago. He looked somehow older than his eighteen years. Perhaps that was what a war and responsibilities did to a young man. Maybe she looked like an old maid already—what she was destined to become eventually. "The Parkinsons have been pushing their daughter rather earnestly, and she has sprouted into a rather lovely young women. But Merlin, Hermione, I can't exactly forget how eager she was to turn me in, you remember?"

Hermione lightly placed a hand on his arm, gritting her teeth against the electric currents she felt when she touched his heated muscles. "She was just scared, Harry." Merlin, how in the bloody hell was she defending Lady Pansy? Even now she was sure Lady Pansy was one of the girls standing above the hill and trying to glance around the tree in order to peer at them. Lady Pansy would sooner cast a slicing hex on Hermione's throat than defend her, but still Hermione was compelled to speak up for the former Slytherin.

"I don't need her family's Galleons." Harry sounded an awful-lot like a spoilt and pampered boy. "Once I'm permitted entry into my vaults at Gringotts—that'll be plenty enough money for me. I'm hardly desperate enough to marry for Galleons, let alone to be used by a family who only wishes to further their political advancements."

"But then who will you have… Lady Ginevra?" The wheels of her head began to turn as she considered his most suitable prospects. "But I even heard she's accepted a proposal from Zabini. Do you think she'd have you?" Even as she said the final words, Hermione knew the answer—Lady Ginevra Weasley would drop everything if Harry Potter came calling, even her favorable match with Zabini. A pang ricocheted through Hermione's heart. She didn't want to see Harry bound to any of her former classmates—least of all Lady Ginevra.

"Hermione!" His voice sounded scolding and she tried to keep from jumping. "Ronald's little sister? That simpering child who used to follow me around Hogwarts? Have you lost your senses?"

She felt her cheeks go impossibly redder, and yes—even her temper flared at his insult. "Since I'm so clearly running out of ideas, why don't you just do me a favor and enlighten me as to who you have in mind. It's obvious you have somebody. Did she even go to Hogwarts at all?"

To her bewilderment, he shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, she did go to Hogwarts."

Feeling fueled by anger mingled with righteous indignation, she pressed on. "Well, who is it, Harry? Who will be the future Lady Potter?"

He'd been ducking his head down before, as if he were embarrassed, his long lashes sweeping against his cheeks, but when she had challenged him he'd suddenly looked up and purged the distance between them, invading her space in the process. His hands trailed along her wrists before finding and interlacing with her fingers. Her breath hitched as a result, feeling as daft as he accused her of being for entertaining the notion for an instant that she could possibly reprimand him. She suddenly felt small again.

"I was hoping," he stepped closer and her eyes narrowed in just on his lips as they moved when he spoke, "that you might do me the honor."

It was entrancing, really, to watch his perfectly kissable lips form words she could hardly focus on. She sometimes didn't compute the words he said until seconds later. It was terribly embarrassing, but she wasn't sure if he noticed. He certainly never commented on it before. She knew without a doubt he would withdraw from her completely if he had any inkling how amorous her feelings for him really were. It took every ounce of focus to keep from slipping. Yet when his words did penetrate the haze of her mind brought on thanks to his proximity, she could hardly muddle through what exactly he'd meant by them. Do him the honor? She stifled a snort. He didn't mean… Baffled, she was helpless but to voice her confusion. "I'm... sorry?"

His smirk widened, and he squeezed her hands tighter where his fingers connected with hers. It was terribly intimate and wildly inappropriate. "Hermione," her heart melted at the sound of her name on his lips. "I wish to marry you."

She pressed her hand to her chest indicating herself, as if the gesture would be enough to confirm the insanity of his words. "Me? I don't understand." Her heart pounded in her chest erratically.

He stepped forward and pressed his forehead to hers affectionately—as if they were old friends—Merlin, but they were! It was she who was losing her head. "Hermione, you're so funny." It was hard not to bristle at the fond inflection of his tone. "For someone so brilliant, you really can be rather slow when it comes to… other matters."

"Other matters." Oh, Merlin—did she just squeak? How mortifying! If she didn't want Harry—her best friend and the only person who had ever seen anything more in her—to look at her as if she were one of the vapid girls he so despised, she needed to rein in her tumultuous feelings and do so quickly. "You couldn't p-possibly be serious."

"Of course I am." Green eyes darkened down at her. Good God, but he was tall! "Don't you see what a perfect solution it is? I already know how easy it is to live with you. You and I get along perfectly." He dropped one of her hands to cup her cheek and she resisted the terrible compulsion to lean into his touch. "I know you. I know you're pure of heart. You don't have ulterior motives. You care for me as I do for you. A marriage between us both would be advantageous—mutually beneficial. Do you see?"

Hermione felt her body go numb. She felt her breath get stuck in her lungs. What he was suggesting—and so sincerely!—it was madness. He clearly hadn't considered the repercussions of such a rash move, in typical Gryffindor fashion. It was… nearly unheard of. A noble wizard of good standing like Harry did not up and go marry a Muggle-born like herself. It was political ruin!

Well.

There was that one case when a certain Potter senior defied the ton and married the woman who captured his heart at Hogwarts—the Muggle-born woman. But Lady Lily had been a special case. Despite the enormous scandal such a marriage likely resulted in, Lady Lily came from a wealthy and titled Muggle family. What was more, she redeemed herself and eviscerated any lasting grievances people had towards her marriage when she sacrificed herself for her son, thusly deflecting Voldemort's killing curse. Hermione could never hope to earn that sort of worth in Society's eyes. Harry was clearly deluding himself with some quickly concocted pipedream he hadn't thought over.

He simply hadn't considered the consequences—that was abundantly clear. Someone like him could and should marry up in stature. He could even raise his title, if he were selective. Why would he ever consider marrying down, of all the silly things? "Harry," she shrilled. "It wouldn't be proper."

He was silent for a moment, staring at her solemnly before he spoke. A part of her shriveled under the heat of his gaze. This was the man that defeated Voldemort—the greatest dark wizard of their time—that made Harry the greatest wizard of their time. One did not simply hold eye contact with such a man. "Not… proper?" he hedged, the velvety baritone of his voice doing funny things to the pit of her belly. A calculating shrewdness flashed through his eyes as he studied her. She suddenly wished desperately that she could shrink into the tall blades of grass they sat upon and hide from his probing eyes. "I had thought we were of a similar mind when it came to such topics. For fuck sake, we've debated the issue half to death many nights over. Now its not proper?"

Hermione winced, his use of profanity not having its usual effect on her. Normally, she could strike up a debate with him and it would be enough of a distraction to keep her mind from wandering. She was in her comfort zone then. The marriage proposal had effectively jarred her. "Harry," her voice sounded like a plea. "That was different. It was philosophical. Only a harmless discussion. This is the real world. If you did something like this, people's attitude towards you would change. I couldn't bear it, I really couldn't. However wild our imaginings were on the run—however freethinking—the world isn't ready for that now. It would mean social ruin. Think of all the doors that would close to you, the people who would turn their backs on you… just because of your selection in a wife."

He lurched away, peering at her from his new vantage point. Hermione wished he wouldn't look at her in such a fashion. Not only was it inappropriate, but it put her ill at ease. It seemed to her like he was measuring her strengths and weaknesses and finding her lacking. She did not wish for him to discover the truth she'd been harboring since she'd first met Harry Potter, at the ripe age of eleven. Her innocent crush only developing and growing into a full out obsession the older and the more mature they both became.

"Do you… do you really… think I care what people think?" His incredulous expression threw her. "They could all suck Draught of Living Death and die for all I care. Surely, you know that. I thought you were strong."

Hurt flashed across her face. If it was only a matter of strength—a matter of facing down the ton and the nobility of wizarding Britain and turning her nose at them all—that was hardly an issue. No, there was another issue to contend with entirely.

"When I think about what they did to you," his face twisted in an angry snarl, "it makes me want to wretch. A hundred Galleons—when Ronald got ten times that?—it's insulting! You must know I vouched for you." He closed the distance between them once more and Hermione tried to stay stoic in his passionate grip. "I told them you deserved so much more. Frankly, I'm appalled with them all." He paused for a moment, running his hand through his hair before slanting his gaze at her once more. "Do you labor under the delusion they can stop me?" He scoffed. "I had my lawyer look over the will with a microscope. Nowhere in there does it say I can't wed a Muggle-born. My own father wed a Muggle-born. I'm not a Duke or a Prince. I'm a mere Lord. A popular Lord, but a Lord just the same. It's completely legal, I assure you. I can protect you. What's more. I can give you the life I know you want."

His hands curled around the small of her back and he pulled her into his well-defined chest. Her breath halted as the scent of him assaulted her in the most pleasant, but the most torturous of ways. She squeezed her eyes shut, beyond grateful that she needn't keep concealing her feelings from her eyes. He felt solid and secure. Her rock. Her protection.

"I heard Kingsley talking. They mean to marry you off, did you know? Some royal Muggle Viceroy or another. They want to strengthen their ties to British leaders in the Muggle world. Sell you off like bloody cattle." He caressed her neck and shoulders as he spoke. "They mean to blackmail you with promises of securing your parents vouchers into the wizarding world—that's how they plan on getting you. But you don't need them. You can live your life as you do now—I wouldn't stop you—and I would help you get everything you desired without asking anything in return. I know what you want and what you need without you having to tell me. You're my best friend."

Oh if only that were true! Hermione tentatively reached her hands around his back to embrace him in return, thankful for the security he offered and the closeness she craved, but she needed to think. This was madness! Even allowing herself to touch him like this was forbidden. She couldn't agree to it—there was no way to make it work. Harry expected certain things from such a relationship, that was clear. If she accepted, she would be knowingly misleading him in the worst possible way. She'd be a wretched friend.

He expected a marriage that was strictly platonic, with a wife who cared for him as a friend would, and in exchange for her compliance he would provide an unheard of amount of freedom. Her life would be quite liberating with Harry—she was sure—but would she live up to her end of the bargain? Could she forever hide the depth of her feelings for the man?

Gathering up all the courage she could muster, she turned her head up and mumbled into his chest. "Harry, what of heirs? Won't you desire for the Potter name to live on through you?"

He chuckled, the lively sound rumbling through his chest. "Of course I'll want heirs." He rubbed soothing circles in her back and she tensed, blushing profusely at the implication of his words. Heirs… with her? "You needn't worry. We're friends—we've battled dark wizards together—is that not proof enough we can get through anything together? I'll take care of you. Only when you're ready, of course. But I know how motherly you are—Merlin knows you've mothered Ronald and I since the beginning. Soon enough you'll crave for a child to dote on, and I can give you that."

She would faint.

Surely she would.

Hermione would fall unconscious across the grass and mortify herself in the process. The notion of him… doing that… to her? It was unfathomable! Well, not exactly unfathomable per se, for she had in truth imagined it lots of times. It was a relief she had a knack for Occlumency, given the natural Legilimens that he was. One slip in her mind and he'd be disgusted by her fantastical imaginings concerning him. The outrageous part of it all was the notion that she could remain… what was it? Platonic. During all of that. She simply could not.

For she knew what couples did on their wedding night. She'd witnessed it! As much as she tried not to think of her captivity and wrench it from her mind, she remembered what she saw. She may still have her innocence intact, but visually she was corrupted. She knew how these things could go. And more importantly, she knew how they were supposed to go. She knew what was proper. When Harry decided to put his heir in her, he'd likely keep his clothes on. He'd go to her under the cover of darkness and lift her nightgown up to her hips. There would be no touching or groping of any kind like she'd inwillingly bore witness to, hating herself and her treacherous mind when the celebrating couple morphed and twisted in her mind so that it was she and Harry in those positions. There would be none of that. Each move would serve a purpose, and that purpose would not be pleasure. But Hermione, who had imagined such things with Harry countless times over to her utter shame, would still likely find pleasure, just from his intimate touch alone. She felt that insistent need tugging on her core even now just picturing it. Imagine the intensity of it actually happening? Imagine his revulsion when he felt her desire for him? How could she possibly agree to this? He expected her to be just like him—indifferent, impartial, cold—but she wasn't. Dear God! She really wasn't.

It would all be a terrible lie—and that would hardly be fair to him.

"Harry," she tried, her voice breathless, "I'm not sure I could… you're like a brother to me." The twisted lie ripped itself from her mouth, but she was grasping for straws at this point and hoped she sounded sincere.

"And you're like the sister I never had," his voice ghosted along her ear delightfully, causing her to shiver with sheer want. "That's why this is the perfect match. We don't wish to see each other unhappy—we genuinely care for each other."

A vision of seeing him and Ronald naked and bathing by the stream popped unbidden inside her head. It had only ever been the three of them, so of course she'd seen them. She'd been far too curious to turn away, not when any passing day could mean her imminent death. What had she to lose? But there'd been a lot to lose. For she had seen his body, painted white in the moonlight and more perfectly sculpted than her vivid imagination could rightfully do justice to. After that, her daydreams had increased in quantity.

Dear God, she was a regular Peeping Tom! It hadn't been intentional—in the strictest sense. The threat of death at every turn influenced her choices dramatically. She'd never intended to become so consumed with lust—for her best friend—of all people. But she inexplicably had, and wasn't that just the rottnest of luck? If she'd led a normal life, she might be very much like her virginal classmates, with innocent minds and pure smiles. But she was far worse, and if Harry ever knew the depth of her depravity, he'd surely commit her to St. Mungos as well as be overwhelmingly disgusted with her. She couldn't bear it!

She adjusted her hat, The ribbon discolored and the side torn, but she couldn't afford a replacement. Just another lapse on her part and more evidence that she didn't deserve him. Her clothing was in tatters, her shoes in shambles, her hair a frizzy mess of impossible curls thanks to the raw lye soap she scrubbed it with. What did she have to offer? She'd only bring him shame and disappointment. She was no raving beauty, not like Lady Pansy or Lady Ginevra. Harry could never find himself attracted to her, as she was to him. And Merlin—but was she ever to him!

It was decided then.

She simply must decline.

As much as it broke her to do so, she couldn't go through with this. She couldn't commit to living a lie day after day, and deceiving the person she cared for most in this life. She was fortunate enough to have Harry's love, and their friendship transcended any bond she'd forged with anyone else. She couldn't bear to be stripped of that, and she would be if she entered into a marriage with him under false pretenses. He would never forgive her!

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I simply can't." She pulled back to look at him, her voice empty and hollow, but her decision made. "You never think things through, and I'm confident you'd come to regret such a decision."

Feeling built of stone, she made to straighten, but to her horror and her utter surprise, he towered over her in a flash and scooped her into his arms before twirling her in a half circle and heading back to the manor.

"What are you doing," she cried in outrage, pounding her fists on his chest. He'd never handled her in such a way—not even when they were children! It occurred to her that in all her nights on the run she'd never been in such a compromising situation. "Let me down this instant, Harry Potter."

"I don't think so." He trudged off in the direction from whence he came.

"Don't you know… we'll be seen!"

He cradled her as if she weighed nothing, balancing her easily against his chest. "Good. I'm going to stroll right up to Duchess Umbridge and confess my sins. I'll tell the sordid bitch that I've made mad love to you, and then…" He peered down at her and she tried to rear away from his gaze after he'd said such sinful things, even if it was in jest. "You'll have to consent to marry me." He flashed her a brilliant smile and she suddenly became grateful he was carrying her because otherwise she'd surely faint. "Hermione, you're my girl. You can't say no to me."

She bit her tongue so hard, she tasted blood. It was the only option lest a moan wrench itself from her throat. The idea of him… making love… to her? It turned her insides into molten lava. It didn't help that he was carrying her so close to his chest. She was weak at the knees, and likely if he set her down, she'd lose her balance instantly. She pressed her eyes shut, torn between abject horror and heated hunger. Harry… moving between her legs… even in the most clinical of ways spurred on her desire. There was no way she'd be able to conceal it from him. And then he would discover her secret! He would find that she was just as wanton… as needing… as the women he discarded like trick wands. She was no different! The respect he had for her would vanish like a Patronus galloping off into the night! He would treat her just as he did every other girl, except he would find her extra repulsive, because she wasn't even attractive. Her heart sank in her chest.

"You can't be serious!"

"I am."

"You're mad."

"Perhaps."

She invoked the name of Merlin and the Muggle God for good measure. Whatever would she do? The memory of cold nights spent alone with him as a teenager when a frustrated Ronald left their trio was enough to make her blood run hot. They had slept in close quarters. They would never speak of it. He never compromised her, but they had shared a tent which others would surely find scandalous if the secret got out. She slept peacefully, despite the presence of pieces of dark souls around her neck. All she required was his nearness. Now he proposed to make such an arrangement permanent? But she would hardly be able to resist him! The older she grew, the stronger her cravings became. Sweet Circe—the man was her one and only weakness. She wasn't a Saint! But how could she dissuade him when he threatened her so?

"Come on, Princess," the old endearment slipped around her like a vice, holding her prisoner and fueling her wicked thoughts. "You can't deny me—you've never been able to before." She melted in his arms. "You'll do this for me, won't you?" Did he know what he was asking? It was too much! It would surely break her to play such a dangerous game… to play with her heart. "I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Harry, she screamed in her mind. I'm desperately in love with you. So don't you see? I could never marry you. Not when you don't love me in return. Not when you expect indifference. I could never give you that… I'll only ever be… always… hot for you. You're my one and only weakness.

"Are you going to force me to make a scene, or will you be agreeable?" He flashed her another smile even as he set her on her feet and she teetered precariously, but he didn't let her go. "Stop denying us something we both want. I won't stand by while a man rules over you—I'd Avada him first. Do you want me to go to Azkaban?" He arched his brow mischievously in a shameless attempt to manipulate her. "Let us do this… together… like we were meant to."

For the briefest of seconds, she lost the struggle and dropped the guard of her eyes, allowing him to see all that lurked in her deep brown depths. But his smile never faltered, and she regained control, the moment lost. If he noticed her lapse in control he didn't react to it, but she wagered he didn't notice at all in typical Harry-fashion. As sharp as he was at reading her, he never seemed to catch her slips when it concerned her feelings for him.

He wanted this. He pushed for it. She would worry herself to death over how she would remain stoic in their marriage bed, but perhaps such concerns were better than dealing with Harry's wrath thanks to her refusal during the here and now. She didn't need to worry about how she would manage it… she could think about that then. If he really wanted to enter the binds of marriage with her, she supposed she should thank the heavens that she would no longer need to worry about some woman coming to steal her friend from her. They would be together always, as long as he wanted her, and Hermione could deal with any issues that came with it. It was a small price to pay.

"There's no need, Harry." She placed a calming hand on his arm and steadied her balance. "If you really want for us to marry, I won't begrudge you your wish."

A pleased smile spread across his face and it was so contagious, she couldn't help but to return it. Despite her abundant misgivings, this was Harry and he was offering the one and only thing she ever truly cared about—himself—to her. How could she ever find herself unhappy in such a state? Uncomfortable? Yes, dooming herself to a life of deceit? Unavoidable. But unhappy that Harry would choose her over all other witches for whatever insane reason he'd managed to conjure? No. It didn't matter. He would be hers, and she would be his bride. For that she could learn to abide.

~oOo*oOo~