“Come on home, girl” Mama cried on the phone
“Too soon to lose my baby and my girl should be at home.”
But try to understand, try, try, try to understand
He’s a magic man, Mama.

“Hermione?”

“Yes Mum?” Hermione called, looking over her shoulder.

Her mother appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, nervously wringing her hands. “Are you certain…?”

Hermione sighed and turned, pushing a strand of her bushy hair out of the way. But thankfully, she restrained the impulse to roll her eyes. “Mum. I’m only moving in with Harry and Ron. We’re going to be less than five kilometers away from here, and it’s a mixed magic and Muggle neighborhood. You can visit us anytime you want.”

Her mother’s mouth twitched downward. “Are you sure you’ll be fine living with two young men?”

Now she couldn’t prevent the eye roll. “Mum, it’s only Harry and Ron, for Merlin’s sake. They don’t see me as anything but a sister. A bossy, all-knowing, how-do-I-get-out-of-this-Hermione kind of sister. I’ll be fine!” She sighed, and realized that she was taking out her own frustrations on her mother, who was only worried about her only child. “”Sorry, Mum, but just trust me to know what I’m doing? It’s only Harry and Ron, both of whom you’ve met before, and from what I can tell, gotten along with smashingly.”

“All right. It’s rather difficult, you know, letting your only child go.”

Hermione smiled slightly. “But I’m not really gone, Mum. I’m just growing up.”

Her mother smiled back. “Precisely. Are you all done?”

Hermione looked around her room, the bare walls, the bare dresser, the bare closet all staring back at her. Everything she owned was in her trunks, fitting inside by a shrinking charm. Being a witch was definitely useful at some points. Moving was obviously one of them. One more look around, and then she nodded. “Yes, I think so.” Withdrawing her wand, she swished and flicked, making the trunks rise obediently. “Is the car out front?”

“Yes. Shall I grab one side?”

“Please. We don’t want to scare the neighbors by watching flying trunks.”

Ron was already lounging on the sofa when she came in, entertaining himself by randomly hitting one of the Wildfire Whiz-Bangs with the occasional stunning spell.

“Honestly, Ron,” she muttered as she swept into the large loft-type flat Harry had purchased, her floating trunks trailing behind her.

Ron tilted his head, smiling. “Good morning to you as well, Hermione.”

She sighed and smiled back, unable to really stay angry with her friends for very long. Especially when Ron looked like a large little boy, one leg resting on the floor, the other trailing over the edge of the sofa, his freckled face finally relaxed. “Good morning, Ron. Where’s the rest of your family?”

“They’ll Floo in here in a bit, but I’m taking the time now to relax and hope that Mum’s baking up a ton of biscuits for us.”

Even she wasn’t immune to the power of the thought of Molly Weasley’s biscuits. Her mouth would automatically water at the mere thought of sinking her teeth into one of her decadent creations that she always reserved for girls only. She still had yet to try Molly’s sublime cake-batter tasting biscuits recipe, and she wondered what kind of kitchen they had in their flat. “I hope so,” she grinned. “Which bedroom is mine?”

“Third door on the left, Hermione,” Harry called from the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “It has its own bathroom so we don’t have to listen to you yelling at us for leaving towels about,” he added with a wicked curve of his lips.

She silently snorted. “Honestly,” she muttered as she went down the hallway, hearing both Harry and Ron laughing behind her. She grinned. It was good to hear them laugh again. It seemed as though for the longest time, they had nothing to laugh about at all. But to hear her two best friends laugh… that was worth all of the magic in the world.

Setting her trunks down, she laughed as she saw the piece of parchment that read ‘Hermione’s Room’ stuck on the door. Her friends knew her too well. They had seen the door of her old bedroom, and they knew that she liked to paste various interesting things on her door, random snippets of conversations, an idiom she’d heard a time or two, an amusing article from a newspaper, it all went onto her door, personalizing a very impersonal thing. Pushing open the door, she sighed in absolute pleasure. Harry had insisted on buying all of the furniture for the flat, and he had, over both her and Ron’s strenuous objections. This was the first time she had seen anything that Harry had bought her, and she felt so touched that her friend knew her inside and out. Though she presented a prim and proper front to most of the world, concerned only with bare minimalism and efficiency, Harry knew that she had a secret longing for the feminine side of things. She enjoyed soft flowing lines, a vase of flowers, soft, billowy curtains, and Harry hadn’t failed to deliver.

Her bed was a wrought-iron four post, sheer fabric draped over the top, her wardrobe was a dark cherry, matching the dresser and vanity, and there was a vase full of flowers sitting on the vanity. Dropping her trunks, she rushed over and drew in the heady scent of the flowers, enjoying the mix of daffodils, lilies, roses, and tulips. Touching the petals of the pink roses, she grinned, already being able to tell that they had been hit with an Ever-Freshening charm. A small splash of color caught in the corner of her eye, and she turned toward the bed. There, on the white duvet sat two Tarot cards. She normally hated any form of Divination, but she did enjoy the artwork of the Tarot, enjoying seeing Harry expertly move the cards about in his hands. She picked up both cards and sighed again. The High Priestess and the Empress stared back at her, the Priestess looking stern, the Empress looking soft and flowing.

Harry said that he could never pick just one card for her – it was always two, or the side she was most using at the time. Her logic ran from the Priestess, while the Empress tapped into her nurturing side.

“I take it that you approve?” Harry asked from her doorway.

Spinning around, she grinned at both Harry and Ron, both lounging against her doorframe. Lunging at them, she threw her arms around both of them, laughing. They were laughing in return, hugging her back.

Letting them go, she spun around a few times in her new room. “This is absolutely wonderful,” she gushed. “Who picked out the flowers?”

Ron’s ears turned red as he raised his hand.

She grinned and pulled him down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “They’re lovely.”

Ron hugged her close, her nose barely coming even with his chest. “You’re welcome, Hermione. But you can thank Harry for everything else in the room.”

She grinned, knowing that Ron had no patience for decorating. “I’ll be sure to do that,” she said, grinning at Harry.

Harry grinned back, and she blinked. Where did that devil-may-care-grin come from? It transformed him from someone she’d known practically all of her life to a very dashing young man. Pulling back from Ron, she pushed her hair back.

“I’m going to unpack now, and if you two laze about long enough, I’ll put you to work as well,” she threatened.

Ron immediately dashed from the door, headed back to the living area, but Harry stayed for a moment. He sauntered up to her, silently holding out his arms. She hugged him easily, drawing in the smell of soap and oddly enough, cooking grease, that always clung to his skin. She grinned up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He grinned back. “You’re welcome.” He didn’t need to ask what she was thanking him for, knowing already. Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss across her lips. It wasn’t the first time he had ever done so, but it was the first time she realized just how handsome Harry was, and how lovely it really felt having him brush her lips with his. Leaning into his body, she closed her eyes, just needing a moment alone with her quiet, understanding best friend.

Apparating straight into the flat was nothing new, but was new were the dark circles under her eyes. She had been up early to get to her apprenticeship, and here it was nearly eight in the evening and she was just now getting home. Had she been any other witch, she would have dropped everything where it was and immediately went into the bathroom to indulge in a lengthy bath. But she couldn’t. Resolutely hanging up her cloak and storing her briefcase full of sheets of parchment in its normal spot, she wandered down the hallway, not even bothering to call out her flatmate’s names. Ron was on a date with Padma Patil, an intriguing thought that she would have to ponder later. Parvarti had said several years ago that Padma wouldn’t ever agree to go out with Ron again, but it appeared that her red headed friend’s charm had warmed up the Ravenclaw Patil twin. Harry had told her that he had several things to check on with the foundation he was starting, and that he would probably be out late.

Her stomach grumbled and she sighed. It was at times like these that she really wished that they had a microwave so she could just buy those handy frozen dinners and heat those on the nights she was too tired to cook or go out for food. She hadn’t had a break all day long, dealing with one crisis or another, and the last thing she had eaten was a quick bite of toast. Turning around, she opened up the refrigerator, perusing the selections held inside. Grabbing an orange and the bottle of wine, she poured herself a glass, promising her stomach a hearty breakfast in the morning.

Peeling the orange and tossing the peel into the trash, she went back down the hallway, stopping at her room. It had been nearly five months since she moved in, and in that time, they had taken the flat and made it home. Pictures, both wizard and Muggle, hung on the walls, and Harry and Ron had copied her lead of pasting things on their doorways. Harry had hung The Magician on his door, along with pictures of cakes and biscuits, and even a picture of the orphans his foundation was helping. Ron’s door held the predictable Cannons poster, but also pictures of his family, and some of the Muggle rugby stars. Bill waved at her as she passed by and Fred and George were blowing her teasing kisses.

Opening her door, she sighed with relief and kicked off her shoes, not caring where they landed. It was her room, after all. She could be as messy as she pleased. Closing her door, she dropped her robes and clothing in quick succession, waving her wand at the claw foot tub, getting the taps to turn on. Finishing off the last slice of her orange, she washed it down with a sip of her wine. Setting the goblet on the small ledge against the wall, she waved her wand, lighting the candles placed around the room, and then poured in a small measure of bubbles. She’d had a long, tiring day, and she would have a bubble bath as a treat.

Profess- Remus, she mentally corrected herself, had given all three of them a phonograph machine, one of the few Muggle things that would work in the Wizarding world, and a wide selection of music. She had been drawn to the mellow strains of soft jazz, and she kept her phonograph in her bathroom. Dropping the needle onto the record, she felt her shoulders relax as trumpets and bass washed over her. Stepping into the tub she sighed in relief.

Idly shutting off the taps, she sipped her wine and listened to jazz as she slowly wound down from her hectic day. Now if she only had a warm male body to curl up with in bed, her life would be complete. She sighed. No thinking was allowed in the bath, and that included the very sorry state of her social life. Closing her eyes, she let the music sweep her away.

She had no idea how much time had elapsed when she heard the knock on her bathroom door. Turning her head, she cracked her eyes open. Harry stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and a plate with a large sandwich held in his hand. She didn’t bother blushing, or even demanding for him to get out. Both he and Ron had seen her in the bath before, and all of them had seen the other naked at some point in their lives. That was just the way it was. In wartime, wounds had to be treated right then, and sod having any sense of modesty.

“Eaten yet?” Harry asked, his voice cutting through the music.

She shrugged. “I’ve had an orange, does that count?” she asked with a tired smile.

The side of his mouth tilted up. “That’s what I thought.” He walked to her, Transfiguring a chair out of a bottle of her bath salts. Sitting down, he offered her the plate. “Eat, Hermione.”

She grabbed the sandwich and hungrily ate it, feeling her stomach heartily approve. Once she had finished with the sandwich, she leaned back against the tub, closing her eyes again. Sighing tiredly, she drank the last of her wine. “How are things?” she asked.

“Going well for the foundation,” he answered. She heard his clothing rustle and then his hand was running through her hair. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “I’m just tired.”

His hand drifted along her jaw. “No, there’s something else bothering you.”

Opening her eyes, she knew that he wouldn’t accept her evasions. “Just thinking about my lack of a social life. No one wants anything to do with Miss Know It All Granger.”

Harry shook his head. “Fools,” he muttered. “They only see the Priestess, never the Empress.”

She smiled slightly. “It’s reserved for close friends.”

His hand was back in her hair, his roughened fingertips rubbing against the base of her neck. After the third pass, it startled her to discover that the touch was making her breasts tingle and her thighs itch. Her breath hitched in her chest as she stared up at Harry. He was staring at her so intently, it stole her breath away completely. “What do you need, Hermione?” he asked, his green eyes suddenly brighter.

Her lips parted. “I- I- I don’t rightly know,” she replied.

He smiled slightly. “Are you sure?”

She unaccountably blushed. Harry and Ron knew everything about her, could read her every move like one of her beloved books, and she knew that he hadn’t missed the brief hunger in her eyes. She needed to feel like the Empress, instead of the Priestess.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her forehead. “Lean back, Hermione.”

She did as he asked, her eyes slipping shut. She heard him move, his suit rustling. And then his hands were on her shoulders, kneading softly. He massaged her shoulders for well over ten minutes, kneading out the last of her tension, and sending her into a semi-conscious state. But when his hands fluttered down her chest and cupped her breasts, her body jerked, desire flying through her. “Harry…”

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. His fingers rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger, and her breath shuddered out. She needed this. He needed this. He fondled her breasts for a long few minutes, gently bumping the desire up. Her legs shifted, making the water slosh a bit. Her breathing was uneven as his hand dipped into the water, caressing her stomach, and then down further, gently cupping her.

Her moan danced around the bathroom, her hips rising upwards to meet his hand. She didn’t know. She never knew that it could be like this. Shifting her legs, she parted them for his hand, his other attentively keeping to her breasts. He rubbed her clit, softly breathing words into her ear, words she had no clue of how to translate. But she could feel the meanings in her heart. He was telling her how beautiful she was, how utterly feminine her body was. Softly crying out, she gripped the edges of the tub, feeling her stomach muscles clench tightly. Her head went back as Harry kissed her neck again, a low moan working from her throat.

“That’s it, beautiful,” he whispered, suddenly switching back to English. “Just come for me. You can scream. There’s no one else home.”

As her orgasm seared through her, she could feel her vocal chords rumbling, so she guessed that she did scream. Suddenly dropping against the tub, she shook as she slowly came down from her orgasm. Harry was rubbing her stomach soothingly, his roughened cheek rubbing against the side of her face.

“Come on, beautiful, let’s get you into bed,” he whispered to her. She nodded mutely. Standing on shaking legs, she leaned heavily against him, letting him take care of her. He wrapped her towel around her body and unstopped the tub, letting the water drain. He escorted her into her bedroom and helped her into bed. Tucking her in, he placed a gentle kiss against her forehead.

“Harry?” she sleepily asked. “What?”

He placed his next kiss against her lips. “What friends are for,” he told her. “When you need me, I’ll be there.”

She smiled slightly, feeling sleep tug at her mind. “You too,” she whispered as she dropped gently off to sleep.

Hermione was nearly dancing as she Apparated into the flat. She’d had the most fabulous day at work. It was obviously one of the days where everything just went her way, and her boss was pleased. Of course, since her boss was technically Harry, it just pleased him to see her every day. She had dropped off her reports just before five, and had gotten in a brief admonishment for him to remember to come home sometime.

He had given her a strained smile, but promised that he would be home shortly. Stowing her cloak and briefcase quickly, she went down the hallway, blowing a teasing kiss at Charlie, the only Weasley to be in his photograph. Her smile dropped off as soon as she saw what was sticking to her door. A Tarot spread, the cards laid out in an illogical manner. She saw both the High Priestess and the Empress, signifying her, as well as the Magician, signifying Harry, and then right below that was Card six of the Major Arcana – The Lovers.

Searching her memory, she struggled to recall Harry’s brief explanation, during one of the days they had been holed up in Grimmauld Place. The Lovers signified… she closed her eyes, furrowing her brow. Choices! That was it. The choice between duty and heart’s desire. Leaning against the wall, she stared for a long moment at the cards, biting her lips.

Since she had begun working for Harry, she hadn’t done anything either at work or at home to indicate that he was anything more than a friend. That was duty.

But her body still ached for his touch, for his knowing hands to be on her again. She ached to know what it would feel like for Harry to be inside her, for them to collapse after a long bout of lovemaking to fall asleep in each other’s arms. That was desire.

To follow duty was to remain static. To follow desire would take a risk. The risk was her heart, her raison d'être. Sliding down so that she was sitting in the floor, she stared at the cards, internally debating. She had hoped that she wouldn’t have to choose. But Harry was forcing her to choose. Friendship or love? Love was fickle, while friendship was ever-lasting. But couldn’t she have both?

Closing her eyes, she took stock.

Hedwig swooped in from the open window, elegantly landing on Harry’s desk. She dropped a folded sheet of parchment on the desk before hooting and flying up to her perch.

Harry’s hands shook as he unfolded the parchment. He blinked as one of his cards fell out. Picking it up, his heart thudded to a stop before he flipped it over. Once he did, a small smile graced his face. The Empress.

Looking down at the parchment, there were only four words on it, but it was the four words he had hoped to hear. ‘Hurry home. Love, Hermione’

Hermione was sitting on her bed when she heard Harry Apparate into the flat. Her body was shaking as she heard him take each step closer to her room. She hoped that she had interpreted the cards right. When he appeared in her doorway, his tie loosened, his hair mussed, and a loving smile across his lips, she knew that she had. Giving him a small smile in return, she moved back on her bed, silently inviting him into it, into her life, into her heart, and into her soul. It was an invitation he readily accepted.

Shedding his clothes, he shut the door, and then slid into bed beside her.

“Hullo beautiful,” he whispered.

“Hullo yourself,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair.

He grinned and kissed her, their lips eagerly parting, anxious for the taste of each other. They kissed for a long few moments before Harry broke the kiss. She smiled up at him, gently removing his glasses and setting them on her nightstand. He kissed her lips quickly and then kissed his way down to her breasts.

At the first touch of his mouth against her breast, she cried out, her body suddenly flaming out of control. “Harry,” she called. “Now, please.”

He shook his head, willing to drag this out a little longer.

She grabbed his shoulders, suddenly throwing her weight against him, tipping them over, her body sprawled on top of his. Moving her hips against his erection, she moaned, tossing her head back. “Fast now,” she panted. “Slow later.” Grabbing his erection in one of her hands, she positioned herself above him and slowly slid down.

Moaning, her nails scraped across his shoulders. He felt too good sliding into her. She could count the number of lovers she’d had on one hand, but Harry just fit her so well. And then his hands came up to her hips and pulled her sharply down. Their cries mingled in the air of her room, almost giving it a different hue.

“Move, Hermione,” he pleaded.

Nodding, she rose up, keeping her balance with her hands on his shoulders, and then brought herself back down. This wouldn’t last long, she knew. Harry was too close to the edge, and if she didn’t come before he did, she knew that he’d feel horribly guilty. Grabbing his hand, she brought it down her body to her clit, trusting that he’d have enough presence of mind to take it from there.

And he did. Crying out with each little movement of his hand, she rose and fell, her own hands palming her breasts as she moved on top of him. He whispered a short phrase, one that she’d heard before in that all together different language only the truly powerful knew. He didn’t have to repeat it in English, her body, her heart already recognizing the words.

‘Come for me, beautiful.’

Her body arched sharply, a strangled sob leaving her throat. She was so close… And then his finger moved against her clit once more, and she was screaming as her climax slammed into her. Distantly, she heard Harry calling her name, his body shuddering beneath hers.

Nearly collapsing on top of him, she shook slightly with the aftershocks, her nose drawing in the earthy smell of her sweat, his sweat, and the smell of sex. She was the Empress, her Magician below her.

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered.

His arms came around her back, holding her to him. “I love you too, Hermione.”

When she was married, she didn’t carry any flowers down the aisle. She carried only three Tarot cards, low on her stomach. Everyone saw the High Priestess in her, but the Empress was the one that had the secret.

-fini