I feel stupid, and contagious

Errrm

2008-11-18T16:19:15Z

Possibly stupid question, but is Twitter on LJ's servers or something? Because I can't load that now, either.

ETA:Nevermind. Twitter's down for about an hour, for network maintenance. Starting at around 11:15, eastern time.

Damn it. I should really try and write something since I can't check my usual haunts when I get a break.

Crossposting because LJ is gone for today

2008-11-18T16:02:24Z

My NaBloPoMo post for #18.

Since it's early still and I haven't got much to really say, let's talk about TV. Two shows today: Gossip Girl (shut up), and Grey's Anatomy. Yes, I watch too much television.

Spoilers ahoy.

Gossip Girl (shut up)

I haven't talked much about this one here, but yeah, I watch every week. It's a guilty pleasure of mine, and lately, I don't even feel that guilty about it. It's the most fun you can have on TV on Monday nights, ya'll. The last couple episodes have been a bit weak, but still highly entertaining. Blair owns my soul, and Chuck always brings the lulz.

I'm a little annoyed (and amused) by Aaron. He's pretty, but what a douche! The thing is, it's entirely typical. Who among us didn't know at least one asshole like him back in the day, to some degree or other? The manwhoring, the not really acting like he's into Serena at all, and somehow making it her fault that he's a manwhore.

I mean, come on: "Well, I'm seeing lots of people. I don't know how it works in high school, but I like to date more than one person at a time."

Or this classic: "I could explain who Tamara is and why she was at my apartment last night, but the fact is, you feel something or you don't. If you're looking for an excuse to keep us apart, that's fine."

See? DOUCHE. And of course Serena falls for it. She did fall for Dan, after all. Let's just hope that she listens to Blair and dumps him before she contracts something.

And that's all I have to say about that. (Also, if you are not reading New York Magazine's weekly recaps, you are missing an integral part of the viewing experience.

Grey's Anatomy

I've been behind on Grey's, but I finally caught up last night, and OMG. It's awesome again. They had me worried for a while, there.

Firstly, JEFFERY DEAN MORGAN IS BACK!!!11!!! For at least five episodes even though he's DEAD. And yes, I think it might be because Izzie herself will turn out to be dying, but I can't contain my squee. God, I love that man.

I continue to only tolerate Meredith because her friendship with Christina is so epic. I love how Christina gets all jealous of old BFF Sadie, too.

Speaking of Christina ... OWEN. OMG. You know, Isaiah Washington might have been an asshole, but I really felt like the show suffered without Burke and Burke/Christina. Now, I feel like it's back. Owen is wonderful, my god. And I swear, he's Charlie Weasley in the flesh, man. Not just because he's Jason McKidd with the red hair and Charlie-like build, but personality-wise, man. All tough and gruff and surprisingly caretakey, and so much sweeter than he seems at first. And I love the angle of the trauma he's still dealing with from being in Iraq. Subtle and well-played so far.

I was going to talk about Dexter and True Blood as well, my totally non-guilty pleasures because they are two of the best things on TV at the moment, but with ten minutes to spare before LJ goes away for the day, I'll save those for tomorrow.

♥

Icons of Pretty -- Joe Gordon-Levitt

2008-03-25T16:23:34Z

Okay, so last might I made some icons from that beautiful Joe-GL photoshoot in GQ, and so I thought I'd share. No need to comment if you don't feel like it, but credit would be nice. Mostly I'll only be peeved if you hotlink cause I host a lot of people's LJ headers and it would suck if they all disappeared on them. :P

Anyway. Teasers:


1	2	3

The rest are under the cut; there are 37 total and I might make more at some point. Hope you like them. :D


1	2	3	4

5	6	7	8

9	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24

25	26	27	28

29	30	31	32

33	34	35	36

37

Icon Table Generator from madzia

RPG Pimping: The Road Ahead

2007-09-26T23:33:32Z

++++++++++++++++

So, you're a Muggleborn, and by law, you've been kept from your education at Hogwarts because of your blood. You've been on the run for months, detained in Azkaban, or hiding in the Muggle world with no news of the life you left behind. You're a Pureblood or Halfblood, and you've been forced to attend school with sadistic professors when you know you should have been fighting. You're a member of the Ministry, and you watched it taken over before your eyes. You're a Slytherin whose choice was made for you, possibly before you could even make it yourself. You've lost your best friend. Brother. Husband. You're a father who couldn't protect his son. A mother who couldn't save her daughter. An educator who couldn't properly guide your students. A Death Eater who's escaped justice for years. Who wants to escape it for far longer, and maintain the status quo.

Voldemort's gone. It's the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, and the dust has barely settled.

What now?

With so much unfinshed and so many stories left to be told, The Road Ahead seeks to answer that question. We're a brand-new, post-DH, Harry Potter RPG that focuses heavily on developing characters in the aftermath of battle. It's about dealing with the outcomes of the last year and adjusting to a post-Voldemort world. There's been tragedy, but now, there's hope, and a chance to move forward with life.

Picking up directly where Deathly Hallows leaves off, this is a chance to explore your characters and see them grow and adapt to the many changes the Wizarding world saw in canon. The Road Ahead RPG is canon-compliant through DH, but ignores the epilogue, and the possibilities for development are endless.

The moderators are seeking serious players who can commit to character-driven plots and are interested in exploring the many questions that canon left unanswered for their characters. With an emphasis on plot, realism, and the joys and setbacks of a post-DH world, The Road Ahead will provide plenty of room for your character to explore and grow.

Canon is over, but their stories are just beginning.

Game Starts on October 19, 2007

++++++++++++++++

The Road Ahead RPG picks up where canon left off. The dust is still settling at Hogwarts following the battle, and word is spreading throughout Wizarding Britain of Voldemort's defeat. Kingsley Shacklebolt has been named Minister of Magic, and he and others have the arduous task of fixing the damage done during Thicknesse's reign as Minister, from demolishing the Muggle Registration Act, to replacing those lost in the war, to restoring the public's faith and confidence in the Ministry of Magic. Voldemort is dead, but Death Eaters and sympathizers remain at large, and the Aurors and Magical Law department have to do their best to capture and convict those guilty of torture and murder.

Meanwhile, Hogwarts has suffered extensive damage during the battle. Minerva McGonagall and others have to fix the damage, both architecturally and emotionally, after a school-year full of torture, hate, and disruption. Harry and his classmates find themselves caught between childhood and adulthood, having grown up too fast due to the reality of war. Now, they face the decision of what to do with their lives. They can return to school for a shorter session in order to prepare for their NEWTs. They can leave school behind and get a job. They can work with the Ministry to restore balance to their world.

The possibilities for everyone are endless as they deal with the events of the last few years and cope with the consequences of war while figuring out where they belong.

++++++++++++++++

So, this is the brand-new game we've been getting ready and mentioning here and there. I just started talking about it with a couple of people who are creative writers and strong RPers, and we decided to go for it. I'm all excited about getting to explore characterizations post-DH. :D I'm playing Harry Potter and Greg Goyle, who are totally new experiences for me apart from fic, so I'm looking forward to it. Still completely in love with SHH, my other game, so no way I'll be leaving that, but I'm also really wanting to explore post-DH. So here we are, ready for casting. *g*

Basically, we're looking for people who like to develop characters and interact with others, and want to do it in a realistic, post-DH setting. Whether you're brand-new to RP or have been doing it awhile doesn't matter as long as you've got a great attitude and a desire to explore the post-DH world that JKR left us with (without exploring the Epilogue, heh).

If you're interested, please feel free to ping me (I'm emotionalinertia on Yahoo messenger), or email me ( hnicole83@gmail.com ) or the Mod account ( rarmods@gmail.com ) with any questions. We'd really love to have a Ron Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall, George Weasley, Percy Weasley, and students in Harry's year. Or, if you're interested in applying for a DE to play temporarily during a trial process and all, that's good, too (longer-term DEs also welcome, of course). We have a list at the link below of the more common characters, but if you get inspired by someone not on the list, just contact us so we can decide where they might fall in relation to the game.

++++++++++++++++

The Road Ahead || Application || Rules || FAQ || Cast || Available Characters

++++++++++++++++

/pimp

Fic: Technicalities (Hermione/Roger, Adult)

2007-09-21T19:38:55Z

Title: Technicalities
Rating: R
Pairing: Hermione Granger/ Roger Davies
Summary: On her first trip by herself since the war's end, Hermione finds a lot more than she expected.
Word Count: 8578
Beta: florahart (Thanks so much!)
Author's Notes: Written for inell for hp_summersmut. ♥♥♥

It couldn't have been further from anything she was used to, and it wasn't just the scenery: green and tropical, with miles of pink sand and water clear enough to see straight though to the bottom. It was also the atmosphere on Bermuda that seemed to run opposite to everything she'd come to know. Relaxed and slow-moving; carefree in a way that she just wasn't. Even so, she could appreciate the beauty and tranquility of such a place. It was, she thought, precisely what she'd been going for.

The word 'hideaway' had a connotation Hermione didn't much care for. As such, she preferred to use the term 'vacation', or 'getaway'. No one was after her, not anymore, and she certainly wasn't hiding or running -- though, admittedly, she'd left rather suddenly and no one was exactly aware of her whereabouts. She'd left word for the boys that she'd gone away so they wouldn't worry, of course, but this trip was for her. And over the next, well, however long it ended up being, so was this place.

She stood on the balcony of the guest house and tried to shake the feeling that she was being watched. It was silly, she thought; the war had only just ended a month earlier, but it was over, and there was no reason to believe that anyone could, or would, track her here. If anyone was good at covering her tracks, it was Hermione, as she'd been doing it for herself and the boys for years. While she firmly believed that there was absolutely nothing wrong with a little paranoia if it meant you were safer, to a certain degree it defeated the purpose of a vacation to constantly be looking over her shoulder the way she'd done when she'd been moving from place to place around the Continent with Death Eaters at her back.

The shiver that moved down her spine didn't seem to follow that logic, though, and her brow knit as she rubbed her hands over the goosebumps on her upper arms and wished she'd selected a more secluded spot.

When she felt something brush against her left arm, she started violently and whipped around. Her wand was in her hand before she'd even realized it, but the only thing she found on the balcony with her was a tall, leafy fern to which she'd been standing a bit too close. She closed her eyes and let out a short laugh, the sort that didn't convey very much humor, and looked out at the water again. By then, of course, she was hugging herself much too tightly and her relaxed mood was gone. The breeze continued to move through her curls until she stepped back into her room and shut herself in.

She moved back to her suitcase. If she unpacked, at least; got herself organized, perhaps she'd actually feel comfortable enough stay here and enjoy herself instead of follow the urge to shut her eyes and Apparate back home. As beautiful as the island was, it was lonely here, she realized; but for the next little while, it would be lonely anywhere Harry and Ron weren't. And maybe, at this point, she wasn't ready to be on her own, she thought as she hung a tidy white skirt on a hanger and slipped it into the wardrobe. But she could at least try and prove to herself that one day, she could be. She was fully aware that she should be; that at twenty- four years old, feeling quite so dependent on the boys wasn't healthy.

The new clothes were more practical than stylish, even if she'd had an eye for such things, but she hadn't bought anything new -- hadn't, in fact, bought much of anything at all -- in over six years. That in itself had been a step.

After her clothing was carefully stored away in the small wardrobe in her bedroom, Hermione stepped back and turned a slow circle where she stood, moving her fingers back through her hair somewhat nervously. This was the part where normal people went sightseeing, to the beach, or out to eat. She could do that. She concealed her wand and took a last look at her room before she headed downstairs and outside into the heat.

*********************

The prospect of facing her second day on the island was somewhat less nerve-wracking than she'd expected. The previous day had been too ungrounded and unsettling to enjoy anything, but today might be different. After all, today she had a plan of action that went beyond just getting here and unpacking, then wandering around town without direction. Perhaps with time she'd become comfortable enough to do that, but she simply wasn't there yet, nor was she sure she wanted to be. She assumed most people would be at one of the beaches today, which was exactly why she'd decided a hike around Harrington Sound would be more suitable as a first outing. Hiking was something she was used to, though not necessarily for pleasure, and while she walked she could learn to identify the wildlife and flora listed in the guidebook she'd purchased in a gift shop. She wasn't above admitting, at least to herself, that she needed that to feel more grounded and secure in such an unfamiliar place. Not only that, but it was fascinating.

Her pack was loaded with the essentials; she'd followed her guidebook to the letter and packed a quart of water, some fruit and nuts, suntan lotion, compass, and a map. Shifting it on her back, she set out to skirt the inland lake, pleased to find it a lot less crowded than she'd feared, and she found it easy to enjoy the walk without feeling stifled or closed in. It was really quite something to be able to just walk with nothing to burden her except her lightweight backpack, and after the first mile passed and she'd identified her first Bermuda palmetto, she felt the dregs of the previous night's dream begin to fade away.

Over the next mile and a half the trail rose slightly, and as she reached the top of it her right knee begin to throb dully. While she'd never been particularly athletic, she knew perfectly well that before she'd been hit with the unnamed curse eighteen months ago, even she could have taken the incline at a jog. As such, the idea that she'd be limping soon if she didn't stop was more than a little irritating. Still, there was no rush, and the view from here was outstanding. She could rest here, as briefly as she dared, and just take everything in.

The sun had crept higher in the sky since she'd first set out, though, and if she rested right here she was fairly certain that the sunscreen she'd packed wasn't likely to protect her from its rays. Perhaps there was a suitable place to rest a bit further back into the cedar forest. It was off the designated trail, but she'd not go far. Just enough to get some shade. Her heart began to race, though, as she stepped off of the trail.

"Honestly, Granger," she muttered to herself as she began to pick her way over soft forest floor. "This whole bloody island is unfamiliar, and you're skittish about venturing off of a trail?"

Resolutely, she kept walking, sidestepping puddles from the last rainfall as she made her way further off the beaten path. She huffed slightly as she rolled her shoulders to shift her pack. Wasn't there some huge rock she could sit on, or something? The ground here was at least level, and therefore less offensive to her knee, but she would still need to take a break, as by this point her muscles were beginning to protest in general.

It was cooler here, more quiet; there was something at least a little unsettling about it. Not only that, but that damned sensation was back. Like she was being watched. "Oh, get a grip," she hissed, even as she silently cast mild protection charms around herself. She rounded a thicket of trees too close together to weave through and began to stalk. "Nothing to be afraid of. It's just a bloody cedar wood. With trees, and birds, and the occasional lizard or tree frog. It's not the sodding Forbidden Forest."

"Well, that's telling it."

She gave a yelp and whirled; it took nearly six years of ruthlessly honed reflexes not to fall smack on her arse. But her wand was in her hand.

As far as surprises went, she would have rather come across a writhing boa constrictor than the fully-grown man currently stretched across a large, flat rock with a paperback novel turned down across a rather broad chest. He was talking -- to her -- from beneath a narrow-brimmed straw hat.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her hand tightening on her wand even as instinct told her she'd nothing to fear from this man. Nothing, at least, that her wand could help with at all. Even if she needed to defend herself, she'd then need to Obliviate him, which was irritating.

"I was napping," he said lazily, and tipped back his hat to reveal an inky fringe that nearly covered startlingly blue eyes that were just full of the relaxed security she'd never been able to imitate herself. His lips curved. "Lost?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, but looked around in a way that belied her words. She took in the bungalow -- that was the only word she could use to describe it despite not ever believing people actually lived in such dwellings -- beyond where the man lay, prone and watching her. "I was just having a walk," she said, falling back on politeness. "Apparently, I'm trespassing."

"Looks like it," he said agreeably, then glanced down at her wand. "I've one of those in my house, if you'd like to wait. I can fetch it, then proceed to defend my property from the intrusion."

She looked up, hardly in the mood for jokes when she was feeling a great deal more unsettled by him than the situation warranted and couldn't figure out why. "No, that's -- that's quite alright," she began, her mind working quickly. A wizard, then, a Welsh one, judging from the accent. What was more, he looked familiar, and she tried to place him. "You live here?" she asked dumbly, taking an involuntary step back when he sat up suddenly and she realized she'd been standing far too close to him for comfort. Bloody hell, he could have reached out and touched her.

"That's right," he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly as they moved over her and he set his book and hat onto the rock. "Hermione."

She began to feel slightly self-conscious in her practical rip-stop hiking shorts and tank top. The way he looked at her had her shifting where she stood, but her voice was even when she spoke. "Who are you?"

"Well, now you've hurt my feelings." His smile spread over a face that was entirely too handsome. He tilted his head up to look at her more intently, if that were possible. "Roger Davies, at your service. What can I do for you, of the wild hair and fantastic legs?"

Now her eyes narrowed. She hadn't been flirted with in ... since ... anyway, it had been long enough that she couldn't be sure that was even what he was doing. It certainly felt like something different than the sweet fumblings with Viktor, or the ... whatever it had been, with Ron. Less innocent than any of that, to be sure. Besides, her legs were much too thin after the war to be termed fantastic by any definition. She put aside her confusion and latched onto something she could understand.

"From Ravenclaw? The Yule Ball?" There was somewhere else she'd seen his name, though, in the years since. She couldn't quite place it.

"Correct, and correct," he said, unfolding yard-long legs to stand and step closer. This time, though the compulsion was strong, she refused to step back, and he was closer than before. He must have been at least as tall as Ron, and he smelled like cedar and -- just -- man. "Small world, yeah?"

Her hand tightened on her wand again. "Not really," she said when she found her voice again. She didn't believe in coincidences, and the chances that they would both be somewhere so far from home at the same time were slim to none. "What's your story, Davies?"

"Weren't you the one trespassing?" He didn't take his eyes off of her, only rocked back on his heels and lifted a brow. "Besides, I thought we'd established that I live here. Granger."

"Why should I believe that?"

"It's not up to you to believe it or not," he said, moving a shoulder. "Take me, for instance -- and feel free to interpret that in any way you'd like," he added, quirking a grin when she blushed. "You've walked onto my property, brandishing a wand. I could ask you what your story is, wordlessly accusing you of all manner of subterfuge, but even if you were guilty of said subterfuge, you wouldn't be likely to own up to it. So, instead, I choose to accept that, for whatever reason, we're here together, on an island more than large enough to hold us both."

She could only stand silently and look at him, because there was no arguing the logic of it. "Yes, well," she began primly, shifting her pack as she realized she'd been taking undue notice of the fullness of his bottom lip. "I'll just continue with my hike, then. Enjoy what's left of your day."

"I plan to." There was that ghost of a smile again, just barely curving those lips as he watched her in that thoroughly unnerving way.

"Good afternoon, then."

"Cheers."

"Bye." On a breath, she turned back in the direction she'd come.

He grinned; she could hear it in his voice. "See you around."

She didn't respond to that, only walked unconsciously faster back towards the trail. She wasn't the least bit sure it would be wise to see Roger Davies around. He made her uncomfortable in a way that she couldn't quite place, and that certainly hadn't been why she'd come to this island.

*********************

By the time her fourth day was ahead of her, Hermione found she could place thoughts of black hair and overly full bottom lips firmly from her mind. Her dreams the previous two nights, of glittering red eyes and Cruciatus Curses, had been chased with other images, just as unbidden, and far more vivid than they should have been given her lack of experience. But they were only that: dreams, and meant absolutely nothing, especially when she doubted she'd see Roger Davies again before she decided to head back home.

It had been difficult to discreetly locate a place on the island from which she could send owl posts, but she managed to find one and send word to Harry and Ron that she was still fine and enjoying her trip. That done, she made her way to the tiny local restaurant where she'd had her breakfast for the last three mornings. When she entered, the woman behind the counter sent her a smile. She found herself rather pleased that she was becoming something of a familiar face here. She ordered the fruit salad she typically got in the morning, then turned to find a seat.

When she spotted him alone at a table, worrying his dark hair as he busily scrawled over a dog-eared notepad, she froze. What was he doing so close to where she was staying? Had he followed her here? Perhaps he'd sought her out just to distract her from the relaxation of this trip and make her uncomfortable. Though, at least he wasn't watching her the way he'd been the other day. That actually helped a lot. Perhaps she could hang by the counter until her order was up, then quietly leave.

"It's a bit rude to stare at someone you know without saying hello," he murmured, his hand stopping its furious pace across the paper as he lifted his gaze to land directly onto hers. She had a moment to note that when he was writing like that, he didn't seem nearly so relaxed or leisurely with his movements.

"I don't know you," she said matter-of-factly, shifting as he pinned her with his gaze and turned his stub of a pencil over and over between his fingers. "I know of you; there's a difference. Besides, you look quite busy and probably want to be alone. As do I, for that matter." For some strange reason, however, she couldn't make her legs work enough to turn back towards the counter. He was wearing a clean, if ratty, blue button-up with the sleeves cut off, and his arms were more distracting than they should have been, considering they were only arms, for heavens' sake. However defined and tanned they were.

"Well now," he said, leaning back in his seat. "Writing or no, I'd be a fool to turn down company from birds with wild hair and fantastic legs, wouldn't I?"

"I wasn't offering my company. I'm simply waiting for my food."

"We've something in common, then, as I happen to be waiting on my breakfast, as well. Why don't you sit, and we can wait together?"

"It would appear I've something in common with half the people here, then. Perhaps I should sit with one of them, instead," she said archly, even as she lowered herself into the chair across from him.

He grinned. "So, Granger, are you staying close to here?"

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Prickly little thing, aren't you," he commented; she didn't respond, though her eyes flashed as she looked back at him. He shrugged and lifted his arm to rest on the back of his chair. "People tend to eat here when they're staying at one of the guest houses around. Don't worry; I'd not sneak through your window at night without express invitation."

She nodded haltingly. "Yes, I'm staying close to here. And if you ever call me a 'little thing' again, I'll make it so you don't speak for days." When he only settled back and crossed his arms, her eyes went to slits. "What are you doing here, anyway? We've established that you don't live in one of the guest houses nearby."

"I like this place," he said simply, in such a way that she really had no choice other than to believe him.

"What are you writing?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing, at the moment." He gave her a cheeky grin. "Until you walked up and provided better distraction, however, I was working on my book."

"You're a novelist? Are you published, then? What sort?" It was best not to address his 'better distraction' comment.

"For someone so guarded with her own information, you ask a lot of questions," he said mildly, though she watched his eyes change slightly. "I'm not published; at least, none of my novels are." He shifted, and she was already so surprised to see him make such an uncomfortable gesture that she was almost tempted not to indulge her curiosity further. Tapping his pencil in sharp rhythm against his pad, he continued. "I write mysteries."

He looked up at her, and her only thought as she took in the hooded gaze that belied the cocky curve of his lips was how much that seemed to fit. Right then, he was the biggest mystery in her life. "Can I see it?" She was surprised by the audacity of her own question, and fully aware that it was none of her business what he was writing. "If you don't mind."

"Why would I mind?" He got up suddenly to take the seat right next to her and edge the notepad towards her. When she felt his forearm brush hers, she felt the brief touch long after it had ended. Frowning, she took a closer look at the page and tried to ignore his scent and the fact that she could feel his eyes on her, and his face much too close to her neck and shoulder. "You'd not make off with my work, would you, Granger?"

She glanced down, flushed, as she straightened and spoke briskly. "Your handwriting's dreadful."

"So?"

She blinked, not sure how to answer, and finally settled on pulling the notebook closer to her to read. By the time she felt him watching her again, she'd reached the end of the second page. He'd been building a scene, set in a cafe much like this one, and his writing was rich, detailed -- and the prose was vaguely, vaguely familiar to something she'd seen before. She glanced up at him and cleared her throat. "Um. It's quite good," she managed, eternally grateful when their meals were brought out. Taking a deep drink of her water, she placed the bottle between them like a buffer and continued. "I read, uh, quite a lot, and I've seen published work that isn't as good as the bit I just read. Have you tried to send this to any companies?" She finally met his eyes.

"No," he said quietly, his fingers brushing hers as he drew the book back towards him. He'd still not touched his food. "But thank you."

"What if I'd wanted to read more?"

"You don't get to read more right now," he said, his lips curving again, all mysteries gone for the moment. "The next time we see each other, perhaps."

At his smug offer, Hermione arched a brow. "It's a good hook, but not that good. It's obvious where your unnamed protagonist is headed, and that the man at the bar has had what he's looking for all along. Why are you touching me?"

"Because your skin is meant to be touched." His hand, which had somehow moved to the back of her chair, stopped moving in slow circles between her shoulder blades, but he still maintained contact with her skin and flirted with the ends of her hair in a way that made her heart race. "And maybe that wasn't the mystery at all."

"Right, well. You can remove your hand, now."

"Bossy women are a particular weakness of mine."

Clearly, the man had a problem. "I could hex you before any of these people realize I've drawn a wand."

"You're trying to turn me on, aren't you?"

"No. You prat." Goodness. She felt just a bit harried. Just a little hot. "I have to go."

"Not stopping you."

Did he not understand that she could scarcely think when he was touching her, much less move away? It took some extra focus, but she picked up her fruit salad, which she'd thankfully had the foresight to order in a takeaway container. When she finally stood, she was unable to stop herself shivering as his thumb trailed clear to the small of her back. She nodded stiffly down at Roger. "Have a lovely day, then."

"Until next time."

On a huff of breath, she moved to the door and, though it irritated her, she couldn't resist a glance back as she left. He was hunched over his pad again, scribbling away, though she couldn't see his eyes through that fringe of hair.

*********************

There had been multiple 'next times' over the three days that followed. It had been a week since she'd arrived, and she'd seen Roger more days than not, as random meetings for breakfast became less random, and turned into him accompanying her on her outings. When she visited the art museum, he was there to show her his favorite exhibits. When she'd made a day trip into Devonshire Parish to explore the old churches and period homes, Roger had engaged her in a discussion on the British imperialism and its impact on the architecture in Bermuda. When she'd visited the botanical gardens, she'd not been able to fully take in the scent of the flowers in the hothouse because she'd been too absorbed in the way he smelled, instead, and it was strange: her undeniable fondness for smelling him couldn't possibly be normal, and was certainly nothing she'd ever noticed about herself before.

She'd learned that he'd been living here for six months and had been largely uninvolved in the war, though the extent to which he had been wasn't something he was willing to talk about. That he'd played professional Quidditch until the war had gotten into full-swing. That he didn't have a girlfriend or wife -- he'd volunteered that tidbit, himself. As far as she was concerned, his marital status wasn't her concern, and she'd conveyed the same to him when he'd brought it up, to his amusement.

He also had a habit of touching her, she'd learned, and while she was quite tactile herself with people she trusted, his touches tended to make her more uncomfortable than they should. In no way should he have been able to make her lose her focus on a painting just by grazing his fingers over her shoulder blades. His brushing a tiny leaf from her collarbone shouldn't have made her go wide-eyed and flushed. She shouldn't have lost brain cells just because he'd caught an eyelash from her cheekbone on the rough pad of his middle finger.

As irritating as it was to admit, she had to accept that she was attracted to him. It was the only explanation for her frazzled nerves whenever he was around, and her heated skin whenever he touched her. She wasn't a stranger to attraction, though she'd never felt anything like this. It was confusing, scary, and not what she particularly wanted for this stage in her life. The fact that he was intelligent and fascinating to her -- and seemed to know it -- didn't help matters at all.

Her first week in Bermuda was coming to a close when she finally figured out where she'd seen Roger's work before. Ron's and Harry's replies to her letters had jogged her memory. It only made him more intriguing, though she'd no idea why he'd not want to talk about it.

While she'd been hitting the cultural spots on the island that had caught her interest, Hermione had also been scouting for the least crowded beach she could find. It hadn't been the easiest thing to do, considering that Bermuda was a popular tourist attraction. After asking around, she'd learned that Clarence Cove was most secluded this time of year, and only accessible by trail. At dusk, she decided to head there on foot. She'd made it a point not to go to her breakfast spot today, as she'd decided this morning after a particularly prurient dream the previous night that it was best that she steer clear of Roger. She could never quite find her footing around him, and that was dangerous.

It was a downhill trail to the beach, lined in lush greenery but somewhat steep, and as she reached the bottom she worried briefly about the walk back up with her bad knee. Any of her concerns faded, though, when she took a look at the beach. Really, it was more lagoon than beach, lined in shelves of rock, with shady trees growing right off the shore in spots, covering the water. A smile spread over her face; it was gorgeous, and one of the more exotic sights she'd found here so far. She nearly regretted the fact that it was growing dark, but the fact that she seemed to be alone was more than mollifying.

The water sparkled, inviting, as she set down her pack and pulled her shirt over her head. The swimsuit was a two-piece, and while the tank-top style covered her torso, it didn't leave very much else to the imagination. She could only be happy that she'd found one of the more secluded spots to be had tonight. She stripped off her shorts and set out a blanket, but she was too eager for a swim to sit on it at the moment. When she waded out into the water, she found it warmer than anything she'd experienced in Britain, even this late in the evening.

She didn't waste a lot of time; it had been much too long since she'd been able to enjoy a good swim. She made her way into deeper water while the setting sun made the water around her glitter. The moon was coming out, and she couldn't wait to see what that looked like on the surface. Swimming for pleasure had become a rare indulgence over the years, and being able to do so now, where she could hear breeze whispering through the trees and water breaking gently against rocks, made her vacation complete, in a way. When she was floating on her back like this, anything else that happened on this trip seemed like icing.

When she felt her right leg and foot beginning to cramp, she frowned and straightened in the water, treading it briefly before she made her way to the closest and lowest rock ledge. Hoisting herself onto it, she grabbed her right calf and began to massage it, sighing in mild exasperation. Really, she'd gotten loads of exercise while hunting for the Horcruxes, so the fact that the aftereffects of multiple curses had affected her endurance the way it had was frustrating. She rested her back against the rock while she held her leg close to her.

The flash of movement in her periphery had her eyes snapping open, and the fact that she could sense it was Roger before she'd even turned her head to her left had her shaking her head slightly. When she looked at him, though, the concern in his eyes managed to smooth away the rawest edges of her embarrassment.

"Are you alright?" He moved closer and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her over.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, hating that he'd found her this way. "It's just a cramp; I was swimming. Have you been here this whole time?" Frowning, she moved her hands from her calf to wrap them around herself.

"Calm down, Granger, I wasn't peeping at you. I was over by the caves, west of the quay," he said somewhat irritably, and nodded on the direction he'd come. "I heard noises. Sounded like you were having some trouble."

"I certainly didn't mean to insult you," she muttered, "as for the noise, I was just climbing a bloody rock -- and I'm fine," she said again, but it came out somewhat weak-sounding when his hands were on her leg, applying gentle pressure to her sore muscle.

"Really; it's only a"-- she trailed off, unable to help slumping slightly against the rock as he pulled her leg into his lap and pressed his thumbs into the arch of her foot. She blinked, gasped. "Oh."

He looked up at her, his face half-shrouded by darkness. "Better?"

"Uh." She shifted, unbearably self-conscious given her state of dress. But ... god, his hands. And, well, he wasn't wearing much more than she, was he, with his pale brown trousers ripped off just below the knee. When she realized she'd been paying extra attention to his chest, to the soft-looking trail of dark hair that disappeared into those trousers, she yanked her foot back and tucked it close to her again. "Yes, much better," she said primly, "thank you."

He looked amused as he sat back across from her, leaning on his hands as he stretched his legs, looking supremely unconcerned with the fact that his bare feet and ankles were brushing against her legs. She cleared her throat, grasping for a topic of discussion. A nice, meaty discussion was in order. "This is a nice spot," she said lamely.

"Gorgeous," he agreed, his eyes on her. "I come here often to write or think. There's fantastic rock diving around the bend there, as well."

"I think I'll leave diving off of rocks to you." She lifted a brow and reached up to pluck a twig from an overhanging branch and run it over and over through her fingers. His mention of writing reminded her of something. "The Daily Prophet is printing again," she said, unable to keep the note of curiosity out of her voice as she watched his face.

"So I've heard," he said quietly, his gaze sweeping back up to hers. "If there's something you'd like to know, Hermione, you should ask."

She shook her head slightly and focused on what she wanted to know, rather than his penetrating stare. "It's just, I remember now, where I've seen your work before," she began. "You used to write for the paper before it was shut down. You were brilliant."

"Didn't think you had much respect for the publication," he commented, "given your history, and the tripe they used to print about you and your friends."

"Well, no, I don't," she agreed evenly, "but what you used to do, back when the war started full-stop ... traveling all over Wizarding Europe to interview survivors of Death Eater attacks, and fighters in the war." The pieces he'd used to write about the people he met had been beautiful; humanizing and gripping.

"That was a long time ago." He moved a shoulder.

"Perhaps, but those articles were some of the only quality work the Prophet featured at the time; the only things not laced with propaganda and agenda. Why did you stop?"

"It was time," he said simply, shrugging. "At least, the Prophet decided it was."

"They censored you?"

"Not in so many words," he said with a somewhat wry smile. "Let's just say that we both decided it was time to move on." He paused. "You might say I lost my inspiration."

"And started writing mysteries."

He nodded. "And started writing mysteries," he repeated. "Writing makes me happy; it doesn't particularly matter what."

"Are you ever going to go back home?"

"This is my home."

"You know what I mean," she said. "Surely you won't stay here forever, can you?"

He drew one leg up to rest an arm on his knee. "Of course I could," he murmured, then sighed a little. "I suppose I always figured I'd go back, once I felt like I had a reason."

The temptation to prod him was almost overwhelming, but she knew when a subject was closed. "I love a good mystery," was all she said. She found herself relaxing against the rock, crossing her ankles and inadvertently increasing their contact with Roger's legs.

He moved his eyes up her body, finally settling on her face. "So do I."

There was a long pause before she whispered, "How do you do that?"

"Hmm?" He moved his legs to rest on either side of hers.

She shook her head slightly. "It's the way you look at me sometimes," she murmured before she could stop herself. "It almost feels like you're touching me." She could feel goosebumps again, all over, but it wasn't cold. Not even close.

"Maybe I want to touch you," he said. "And maybe you want me to, and that's what you're feeling."

"No; I'm -- I'm sure that's not it, actually," she lied, not at all sure why that idea scared her so much. She was a fully grown woman; surely it was natural for her to feel attracted. To ache for him to touch her. Part of her wondered, though, if it was really just Roger, or if she was just love-starved in general after years with only vague memories of what she was missing. And bloody hell, that was scary.

"You sure?"

"I don't really, uh, have time for anything like that right now," she said, nodding briskly and scooting up from her position. "And my leg really feels much better, so." She nodded again. "I should head back."

There was a pause, then he nearly leaped to a crouching position, holding out his hand to her. "Fine."

She stared at his hand for a moment and, deciding she'd be wiser not to take it, she continued to scoot forward in a graceless sort of crab-walk over the short space to the edge of the ledge. She heard a splash as Roger lowered himself into the water, and then he was standing right between her dangling legs. She cleared her throat. "If you could just -- move back a bit?"

He did, but not far, and in the end she just puffed out a breath and slipped off the rock. The drop was somewhat faster than she'd intended, though, and she reached backward to try and slow herself down before she stopped suddenly. While she'd plopped into the water, her feet were still several inches off the ground.

If she hadn't been so breathless, she would have been exasperated when she felt Roger's hands on her again.

He'd caught her by the hips, and she could feel his fingers digging in slightly. "Got you," he murmured, face close to hers.

She could only nod shakily as she gripped his shoulders. "Thank you," she said in a voice that didn't quite sound like her own. When he lowered her into the water, he let her body slide along his on the way down, and their damp skin slid together in a way that had her whining before she'd realized it. She rubbed her thighs together. "Roger."

"Yeah." She was gratified, at least, to hear the answering gruffness in Roger's voice, but then his hands were moving up her sides, his breath was on her face, and she couldn't think at all.

His lips brushed against hers; they were chapped and not quite as soft as they always seemed to look. She didn't mind at all, though, because they pressed against hers more tightly, more surely, and there was an urgency in the kiss that made her shiver as he coaxed her lips wider. On a sigh, she opened her mouth to let him in.

He made a little sound, and from there the kiss intensified more quickly than she'd anticipated; his tongue moving past her lips, licking into her mouth, stroking against her tongue. Such a simple movement, but it had her thighs going lax as heat coiled into her belly. She knew about arousal, had felt her body flush with it at night when she couldn't sleep with the shadowy images in her mind, but this was more intense than anything she'd felt when she was alone. She didn't quite know what to do with her tongue, as she had never been kissed this way before. But she knew that he tasted good, that she wanted more, and so she curled her tongue around his.

His hands tightened on her ribs, pulling her closer so her barely-covered breasts rubbed against his chest. She gasped into his mouth because her nipples were hard and the friction against them, even through her top, was amazing. She didn't remember moving her fingers into his hair, but she was gripping it now, her fingers damp from it, and she was effectively holding him against her mouth with an urgency that shocked her. She moved her hands, finally, down over his arms, then along his ribs to his back, unable to get enough of the way he felt -- the hard and soft of him, the lines of his body that were so different from her own. Everything about her that was curious and fascinated itched to explore him.

Any thoughts of exploration, any thoughts at all, were brought to a grinding halt when she felt long fingers against the side of her breast and exquisite friction against her nipple, localized there as he rubbed back and forth over it with his thumb. God! She arched against him with a low, needy cry.

She felt his body quake against hers as he squeezed her breast. "Fuck, Hermione."

The words seemed to burn and sizzle along her skin; she pressed closer, far too caught up to analyze why hearing him say that only aroused her more, made her writhe against him like some slag while water sloshed around them and her back scraped roughly against cold stone.

He pressed his knee between hers, his upper thigh snug in between her thighs. "Roger!" She shifted and bucked forward slightly. It was so hard to focus on everything at once, with his lips on hers, his hand on her breast, her hip, and now this firm pressure right against her center. It was too much, and so hard to keep up. She accidentally bit his lip as she shifted again and felt him, hard and bulging against her thigh. She heard his harsh groan and drew back slightly to look at him. He was -- god, his eyes seemed an even darker blue than before, and heavy-lidded with lust. Her body seemed to throb all over as she looked at him. "Sorry," she whispered hoarsely as she moved her thumb over the spot where she'd bitten him. Shyly, she swayed forward again to flick her tongue over it. He didn't say anything, only closed his hand more tightly over her breast and rocked insistently against her leg.

She began to move her own hips, rolling them even as she blushed, because it felt too good for embarrassment and she was careening toward something she'd only ever been able to imagine before. All she knew was that if she stopped now, she'd never get there. She busied her hands over his back, closing her eyes against the need to see, to learn, instead letting instinct urge her hips faster.

"More," she heard him mutter as he slicked his hand down into the water, beneath the fabric of her swimsuit to slide over her arse and take hold. She gasped as he pulled her hard against him, over and over, and began to suck on her neck.

Hermione cried out, pressing her face into his shoulder, and came so fast her mind had no chance of catching up. The orgasm washed over her as Roger grunted and spasmed against her thigh. There was wet all around them, but she could feel his wetness against her leg, warmer and decidedly different, even through his trousers.

For a few moments, she just held him tightly, trying to process everything, just trying to think while she caught her breath, while they both did. But as the effects of her orgasm faded, there was nothing to process except rough stone biting into her skin and cold water lapping against her legs. Roger's hand spread over her arse. Oh god. Her eyes widened and she pushed against his shoulder, unable to believe she'd just forgotten herself and acted that way.

She couldn't look at him. He thought she was a slag, surely. How could she have let him just rut against her leg like that? How could she have just rutted against his leg like that? She ran a hand through her damp hair and waded away from him, frustrated by the fact that the water was slowing her down. When she chanced a look back, he had a hand braced against the rock as he looked at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I need ... I can't do this. I have to go."

"Can't do what? Love, we already did it." He gestured between them with his free hand. "Where are you going?"

"I can't believe I just -- I don't even ... this is wrong," she said, her voice rising slightly as she rubbed at the spot on her thigh where he'd rubbed off on her, even though there was nothing there. His eyes flicked down and back up to hers before he nodded stiffly.

"Fine, Hermione. If that's how you want it. I'll see you around." Her mind took her back to the first time he'd said that, the teasing promise in his words that she just wasn't hearing now. He hoisted himself back up onto the rock and went back the way he'd come.

Though she was alone now, she nodded shakily before she turned to wade along the water's edge, back to the shore where she'd left her things.

*********************

He wasn't at the cafe the next morning, or the two mornings after that. He'd not been at the beach either over the next three days, and it got to the point where Hermione was growing increasingly irritated to notice herself looking for him when she went out. Especially when she'd been the one to walk away.

And for good reason, she thought as she shifted her backpack while she walked. The fact that he'd made himself scarce over the past three days only proved her suspicions that she was, in fact, a wanton slag, that Roger thought so, and that he was staying away from her accordingly. The best thing for it was for her to leave him alone. She'd been here for a week and a half, anyway. A week and a half to prove that she could be on her own, to take the time to enjoy the things she liked to do, and find out more about herself apart from being one of three; apart from being a fighter.

A week and a half to find out that apparently, when left to herself, she got in over her head with men she barely knew.

Oh god. Maybe it was time to go home.

It wouldn't be running or hiding simply because she was thinking of putting an ocean between Roger and herself. She missed her friends; that was all. Missed Ron and Harry, and other such people who didn't have the ability to kiss her and make her stop thinking. Make her do scary, stupid things and not even care because it felt so good. There had to be safer men back in Hogsmeade.

She ran a hand through her hair as she started to pick her way over soft forest floor. Again. When she skirted the thicket of trees and looked up to see Roger's bungalow, she came to a full stop. The fact that she'd simply gone for a morning walk and hadn't planned to come here at all only proved how pathetic she was.

It was just was well. As long as she was leaving, she could apologize for her behavior and bid him a happy life. Nodding, she strode to Roger's door and knocked.

He opened it, blinking blearily for a moment before he stepped back and swung the door wide. "Morning," he said huskily.

"Good morning," she said politely, as if she hadn't been squirming against him three nights ago. She looked around the house; it was small and sparsely furnished, but it looked like him.

His scent was everywhere.

"Something you wanted?" He rubbed a hand over his tousled hair.

"What?" She turned back and blinked. "Oh. No; just -- I'm leaving," she blurted, glancing up from his bare chest to his face.

He nodded and yawned. "You want some coffee, before you go? I'm going to have some coffee," he said groggily and padded into his tiny kitchen, gesturing to for her to follow.

It wasn't exactly the reaction she'd been going for, but she could work with it, she decided. She folded her hands in front of her. "Yes, thank you."

He glanced down at her hiking shorts, the same ones she'd worn when they'd met. "You don't look like you're ready for a trip back to Britain."

"Hmm? Oh, I wasn't thinking of leaving today; I was thinking tomorrow, or ... soon." She found herself hedging as she looked back at him. "Um. I really just wanted to say goodbye and apologize for my behavior the other night. It was completely inappropriate. I'm not usually, well, ever that way," she rambled. "So, yes. It won't happen again, mainly because I'm leaving. I mean, not just because I'm leaving, of course. But I am leaving, so. Uh. Thanks for everything, and. Goodbye."

"Thanks for what?" he asked curiously, resting an elbow on the counter as he leaned against it. "Letting you peek at my manuscript? Showing you the island? Giving you an orgasm?"

"What? No! I just meant, well, you've been lovely and it's been nice getting to know you again. And I'm fairly certain you had an orgasm as well," she muttered under her breath, blushing to the roots of her hair.

"I did, at that," he said, smiling slightly, crossing his arms and watching her. "Was fantastic. I want more. I'm actually unclear as to why you're apologizing for it."

"You do?" she asked quietly, before she remembered her point. "I just didn't want you to think I'm a slag for doing something like that."

"You think I'm a slag, then? You think I like to rut against the random birds that pass through on vacation, or something?"

"No, that's not at all what I'm saying, but"--

"What if I like you?" he cut in. "What if, over the course of the week-and-few-days I've known you, I've found myself attracted on more than a few different levels? What if I haven't felt this way about anyone else, and want to explore that?"

He looked far too comfortable, considering how frazzled and harried she felt. It was just her luck to be falling for his type. Handsome, charming, intelligent, with a hint of something deeper beneath the surface. Not to mention smug, cocky, and given to leaning against things. Bloody hell. She puffed out a breath. "I just ... it just surprised me," she said quietly, honestly. "I surprised myself. I've never done anything like that, and I barely know you, and you live thousands of miles away from me, so it's ridiculous to even think that anything like this could work. That's not even taking into account that this isn't even anything I'm looking for." Agitated, she ran a hand through her hair.

The smug and faintly amused smile he'd worn nearly since she'd arrived turned decidedly boyish, and he straightened and walked towards her. "Technicalities," he said easily, moving his hands down her arms. "Still regret what we did the other night?"

Actually, she felt a bit foolish. "Not so much," she conceded.

"How about what we're going to do? Will you regret that?"

She lifted a brow. "Smug git."

"Maybe you've just got a dirty mind."

"Or maybe you're an unbelievable prat and I'm losing my mind."

"What have you." He stepped closer, only grinning when she tutted. "Still leaving?"

"Soon," she murmured, placing her hands, then her forehead, on his chest. "But not yet. Still staying?"

"For now," He tipped up her chin before he repeated his words from the other night. "But I suppose I always figured I'd go back, once I had a reason."

Roger leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. It had only been a week, she knew, and when she thought about everything she didn't know -- about him, about relationships, about all the other things that she couldn't even begin to read about, she felt utterly and undeniably afraid. But in that moment, as she returned his kiss, Hermione could only see possibilities.

End

Meme and Meh

2007-08-22T02:12:16Z

Hee. I haven't laughed this much while taking a quiz in a while, and after my day I kind of needed a laugh. Highly recommended. lulz.

Which Slytherin Mary Sue Are You?

Not! Mary Sue
Take this quiz!

Quizilla |
Join

| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

**In other news, I checked out Twilight recently, just to see what all the fuss is about. Have yet to read it so I guess we'll see. A brief flip-through tells me I shan't need more than an hour or two to read it, so.

**One of my front tires blew out on my way home from work today. A huge shout-out to the two dudes who both stopped to help me change it after I pulled over. I drove on the spare to VoldieMart to get a new tire, and the other three also need replaced, which I'll have to see to next week. Ah, unexpected expenses, how I ~~love~~ hate thee. But really, it could have been far worse, so I'll not complain much. :)

**I have next week off. The whole of it. *bounces around* Haven't had a vacation since I started my current job in March 06 so, yeah. I need a break.

**I also need to write. head/desk=OTP.

I hope you all are having a great week so far. *hugs*

Shaggability Meme. >_>

2007-08-18T15:42:26Z

1) List 5 celebrities you would have sex with without even asking questions.
(2) Put all of them IN ORDER of your lust for them.
(3) Say which movie/show/thing it was that hooked you.
(4) Supply photos for said people.
(5) Tag five people: Would anyone really need to be tagged to do this? >_>

It would take me too long to actually gauge my relative lust for each of these, so the order is random, lol:

I couldn't very well not put him on here, because he's the only reason to even watch Smallville:

Tom Welling

Because, well, the only reason to watch Nip/Tuck, though I fell for him on Charmed:

Julian McMahon

Because dancers are hot:

Danny Tidwell

Because he's brilliant:

Sean Bean

Because he's also brilliant:

Jude Law

Because of Munich, and I completely forgive him for Hulk:

Because of Layer Cake and Munich:

Daniel Craig

Because of PotC: DMC

Jack Davenport

Because he's bloody Brad Pitt:

Because he's frakking brilliant:

Johnny Depp

Because of The Departed, and because of those goofy-ass Calvin Klein ads (What??):

~~Marky Mark~~ Mark Wahlberg >_>

Not, strangely enough, because of 300:

Gerard Butler

Because of A Time To Kill, and because he's just fucking cool:

Matthew McConnaughey

And because I could literally go on forever, I'll stop here. >_>

Some stuff :D

2007-08-17T17:18:44Z

Just because I haven't updated in a while. XD

** So You Think You Can Dance ended last night, and yes, I'm fan of the show, even if I don't, like, vote or anything. ha. But the dancing and talent are spectacular, and Sabra won! She was my second fave after Danny, who still finished second, so I'm happy. Ah, they were so brilliant. -happy sigh- Just sorry that I can't watch Danny dance every week anymore. :D

** I start class again (grad school) on the 30th. Intro to Bioinformatics every Thursday night after work. It's just one class a week which isn't bad, but with studying and such it cuts into fandom time. meh.

** I signed up for sexy_brilliance and hermione_smut, and haven't started my fics for either as yet. *headdesk* sexy_brilliance is due in two weeks, so that's the first order of business. God, and I said I'd not do another exchange. WTF, self?

** Why yes, I do have a new layout. :D I think I might keep it for a while. And I spent way too much time replicating it at my three other journals. (I'm the same username at Insane Journal, Greatest Journal, and JournalFen, so as always, feel free to add me.)

** I'm beyond tired of reading posts and comments about Boldgate and lj_biz and SixApart and and and. It can be quite addictive to follow it all, but now I'm completely overloaded with it. No moar plzkthnx. Suffice it to say that I'm posting to all four journals and that I'm keeping up with my other f-lists so I don't lose anyone who's leaving LJ. One thing, though: Does anyone know of a good tutorial for Semagic? I guess I just need to set aside the time to try and figure it out.

*I have new LJ friends since I last posted. Hi and welcome. :D

What's Your Reputation at Hogwarts? (26 different characters)

Quiet Nerd:House: RavenclawBest Friend: Hermione.GryffindorsHarry: Wants you to speak up more during class because he loves your voice and thinks you are quite intelligent.Ron: Hopes that you get less like Hermione as you get older.Hermione: Loves that you study as much as she does.Oliver Wood: Doesn't know who you are.Fred and George Weasley: Try to get you to play pranks with them to crack your tough shell.Seamus Finnigan: Doesn't bother trying to get to know you.Neville Longbottom: Is too busy dreaming about Ginny.Dean Thomas: Bought you a book for Christmas because he had a crush on you.Ginny Weasley: Tried to burn that book so that you would have more time to spend on being normal.Parvati Patil: Is always too busy flirting with the Gryffindor boys to notice you.Padma Patil: Same as Parvati.HufflepuffsCedric Diggory: Doesn't know who you are.RavenclawsCho Chang: Same as Cedric.SlytherinsDraco Malfoy: Picks on you as often as possible because he knows it hurts your feelings.Crabbe: Don't know you.Goyle: Same as Crabbe.Pansy Parkinson: Is always picking on you with Draco.Marcus Flint: Wants to be smart like you, but knows he can't so he makes fun of you for it.Blaise Zabini: Is the only Slytherin who's somewhat nice to you.TeachersDumbledore: Tries to get you to like new things so that you won't be so shy.Professor McGonagall: Likes how you don't talk during class.Professor Flitwick: Knows you are afraid of showing you're true skills in class and tries to get you to demonstrate them in class.Professor Trelawney: Predicts a lonely life for you.Professor Snape: Forgets your name on a daily basis.Filch: Doesn't even know you exist.
Take this quiz!

Quizilla |
Join

| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

...yeah. One of these days I might actually be surprised by one of these memes. :P

Have a great weekend! I hope everyone had a good week. Hugs to everyone who needs one today. Or even if you just want one. ♥

Journal Fen

2007-08-10T13:51:35Z

Hey, ya'll.

If anyone on my f-list is on JournalFen, please to be friending me over there. :D Cause I'm having trouble finding people and communities there by myself. haha. ♥

Also having trouble customizing the damn thing, but that's another story. ETA: thanks to keepaofthecheez, I've figured it out. And it's pretttttty. *pets it*

And really, why can't LJ just act right? *headdesk* seriously. I have yet to find a journaling service that I like as much, functionally and aesthetically. Dammit. (Again, not leaving LJ. Just sayin.)

*goes back to work *

Fic: Perspective (Harry/Hermione)

2007-08-08T17:38:56Z

Title: Perspective
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None. Well. Maybe angst.
Word Count: 4908
Beta: florahart & many thanks to inell
A/N: Written for ladybluestar for the hghpficexchange
Summary: None too late, Harry gets a reminder of how much Hermione means to him.

"Perspective"

The dirt road leads to nowhere except an old stone building, or, part of one. Four years ago, it was a decrepit single room that had served its purpose: to hide them. Hermione had surmised it must have once been a church, but if that was the case, its trappings were long gone, even then. Framed in thick, sheltering trees, it had given them a safe place to hide, a strategic position from which to defend themselves if it had become necessary. Blankets and warming charms had been all they'd needed to make it a safe place to rest in the few days before they'd nearly been found and had to move on. Now, it's more lean-to than room, with two bare damaged walls holding up part of a leaky roof.

Mortar and old stone crumble under Harry's fingers as he traces the wall of the structure from the outside, his trainers making a path in the well-traveled dirt in front of the wall. He should go in and sit, or at least stop wearing a trench into the dirt, but he finds himself unable to stand still when it's just him and all these memories. Memories that remind him of what he had. What he might have lost.

Not for the first time since arriving here, he wonders if this was the right place to ask Hermione to meet him. But it doesn't matter where they are, especially when he hasn't got a clue what he'll say once she gets here.

If she gets here.

He shakes his head. That's a possibility his mind doesn't quite want to process right now; the waiting is torturous enough without wondering if it's all for nothing and knowing that, even if it is, he's no one to blame but himself.

There's no glass in the window as he finally stops and peers through to the inside, and so he's able to rest his forearms right across the sill. It's as if the little half-room has been petrified, preserved just the way it was before, and that somehow makes it even worse to be here alone. He looks down at his hands; they're covered in dust from the wall. In his mind, he's staring at those same dusty hands from four years before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He'd been clutching the wall for dear life, crouched and flattening himself against it. He was about five seconds from waking Ron and Hermione and informing them urgently that it was time to go. They'd gather their things efficiently, in the familiar habit they'd honed over their time on the run. They could be gone in less than a minute if they had to.

When he caught a flash of movement in his periphery, he whipped his head to the side to see more clearly. He felt cold, crumbly stone against his cheek as he watched the doe zip off into the trees. He let out a shaky breath and a short, quiet laugh. "Get it together, you git," he muttered quietly to himself as he relaxed slightly, shivering a bit but releasing his death grip on the stone. His hands came away covered in a layer of pale dust. Another noise and he was alert, craning his neck and creeping towards the end of the wall as closely as he dared. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he gave a start, one hand tight on his wand, body tensed and ready for a fight.

Hermione held a finger to her lips and applied gentle pressure to his shoulder, silently urging him to turn toward her. He could only comply, his eyes wide with wonder and lingering wariness as she moved closer. In that moment, there was only her, and a dangerous lack of awareness of anything else. He knew it wasn't wise, and so did she, but her hands were on his forearms, sliding slowly over his shoulders, along his collarbones. And her face was much too close for him to register anything else as she swayed forward.

He didn't remember dropping his wand, but it landed somewhere by his knees, and then his hands were flitting across cheekbones, into dark curls, thumbs brushing against her jaw, fingers curling towards her throat. She let her eyes close when he touched her, and he wondered if it was only escape for them, just a moment where they could be selfish and forget this war and focus on themselves and the fact that they'd wanted this for years.

But then her lips were on his, and that left no room for confusion or doubt because his eyes were closed and there was only her lips, warm and wet, soft and yielding, moving under his in a way that made his blood move and his gut tighten.

Much later, when they pulled back, noses brushing, he realized that he'd transferred that pale dust to her cheeks, neck and hair. She didn't seem to mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry straightens and backs away from the wall, staring blindly at his palms for a moment before he drops them and wipes them on his trousers. He looks back in the direction he came, half-expecting to see her walking towards him, hand lifted to shield her eyes from the sun. She isn't, though, so he's stuck remembering that first kiss and wondering how, in the years since, he's managed to bugger everything up.

He thinks back to that night, the time he'd spent gazing at her, tongues brushing, breathing into her; feeling more alive than he can remember ever being despite everything that had been crashing down around them. Perhaps because of it. He'd never had a kiss like it before; with Ginny it had been about a different sort of escape, the barest hint of something he'd never really felt free enough to have. Hermione had been ... promise. There'd been so much promise in that kiss, and in the ones that had followed. For the first time he felt like he could have things he'd been afraid to hope for, and build something real out of the mess of his life. Being able to see beyond he moment was such a simple thing that had felt like a miracle to him, and just because she'd kissed him.

At the time, he hadn't realized that he was in love with her. All he'd known was that he could be happy with her, for however long it lasted.

The sun creeps slowly higher in the sky, and it's the only concept he has of how long he's been waiting for her. He could use some shade, but has a brief thought of not wanting to miss her if she shows and can't see him immediately. But that's silly, as his footprints are in the dirt and besides, he'll just know when she arrives.

There's a door on the building; it's heavy and made of worm-eaten wood, but they've never used it in either of the times they've been to this place. Easier to walk around the wall than to magick it open, as the structure doesn't even look strong enough to stand that. When he moves behind the wall, he finds the space as shady and cool as it's ever been, crumbling rock and split wood on one side, and overgrown grass and weeds creeping in from the other, where the walls have been knocked down.

He crosses the short space and rests his palm against the wall adjacent to the door, the only other wall still standing. The last time they met here, he found her sitting against this wall, he remembers. Lowering to a crouch, he closes his hand around a rock. It's round and smooth and looks utterly out of place here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The war had been over for all of a week, and things still looked the same. He didn't know why, but he'd thought that they might be different, feel different, on the other side. If he was even around to see it.

It looked like he'd made it through, and he had no clue what to do about it, or where he could possibly fit in this world that people were telling him he'd helped build. He let out a wry laugh. He hadn't built anything. All he'd done, all he'd ever been trying to do, was survive.

Harry found himself back in this place, because it reminded him of the first glimmer of uncomplicated hope he'd felt in that last year, that final push toward the end. It had been a while, but maybe if he came back here, he could find it again.

When he rounded the wall and looked across the rubble and grass, she was there, and something squeezed around his heart as he took a step forward. She almost looked surprised to see him before she sent him a brittle little smile that nearly brought him to his knees. Without a word, he lowered himself to sit next to her and moved his fingers over hers, closing lightly over the smooth, round object in her hand.

"What's this?" His voice was raw, like he'd not used it for years. He cleared it and tilted his head down.

"A rock," she said, somewhat hollowly, eyes flitting to his briefly before she glanced at their joined hands. "It was just lying here. It's a bit out of place, isn't it? I'm trying to figure out where it would have come from. I think it must have somehow been transferred here in the years since the building was destroyed, because I'm not sure what something like this would have been used for in a church."

He nodded, comforted by her random tidbits even when they were delivered in idle, hollow tones. It was a while before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was low and quiet. "What do I do now, Hermione?"

"You move forward."

"How do I do that?" It seemed impossible.

She glanced at him, her expression somewhat weary before it cleared and she lifted her fingers to tangle with his. "You aren't the only one who needs to pick up and try to make a life out of this mess, Harry," she said tiredly, and he realized she'd been as displaced and disoriented by this war as he had. Had sacrificed just as much, and had done it for him. Because she was his friend, above any and everything else. He pulled her hand into his lap and turned it over, moving his fingers over her palm.

Before he could respond, she was pulling her hand back and speaking briskly. "As for you, there's no reason why you can't pick back up with your life. You can go back to living, get a flat, a normal job; normal girlfriend." There was a twist at the end of her sentence, but he could only focus on his own confusion over her words.

"Not really sure I can do normal," he said quietly, "not sure I want normal."

"Everyone wants normal, Harry," she said, looking down at her hands.

He didn't. He was remembering stolen kisses under threadbare blankets. Nothing else mattered, not when she was everything real and constant about the last three years when nothing else had made sense. His fingers were making circles on the inside of her wrist, and she was shifting where she sat. "What about us? We're not normal."

"There's no 'us'," she said faintly, looking slightly irritated when he wouldn't let her pull her hand back this time. "Not like that. We were just..."

"I don't know what you were doing," he cuts in softly. "But I was falling for you."

She shook her head. "Don't say things like that," she said softly, even as she leaned into him. "Don't. Things are -- different, now. That was -- you don't need me any more; there's Ginny, and"--

Harry stopped his fingers moving over her arm and lifted his eyes to hers, pulling her to him. She stopped talking and moved fluidly into his embrace and then his lips were on hers, touching, tasting, tongue stroking against hers. It started to rain as they tangled together, arms and legs and skin for miles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blinking, Harry releases the rock. It makes a dull thunk on the ground as he scoots back slightly and realizes he's on the same stretch of grass and concrete where he and Hermione were that day. Staring at the spot, he can almost hear her breathy moans and feel her skin sliding along his.

He folds his legs and leans against a large slab, feeling cold stone against his back. He didn't expect to be hit with memories quite this vivid by coming here, but it's not as if he can stop it.

He can remember what it was like after that first night with her, and they'd gone back to the real world. The months after the war had ended had been a circus of press and publicity, uncertainty and disorientation, and various other things that made the victory so much more bitter than sweet. Made him want to disappear to somewhere no one would find him, where no one knew him. Without her, he would have.

It's frustrating to consider those first few months of scary, heady exploration now, not because anything about those months is upsetting -- well, not as far as his relationship with Hermione -- but because he wonders how they've gotten to this point from there. He knows what happened, broadly: He lost sight of everything she meant to him. He has, however, no idea how that's possible.

Standing, he moves to the window again, this time looking out from the inside. There's nothing but dirt road for miles as he squints against the sun's glare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry stood at the window of the flat and looked out over Muggle London, squinting against the glare. He'd wanted the Muggle side, simply because he could walk the streets and blend into the crowd and be reasonably sure he wouldn't hear 'Harry? Harry Potter?' at every turn. Though she hadn't complained about the lack of notoriety either, Hermione had liked it because of its proximity to her office at the Ministry and the British Museum. It wasn't fantastically huge, but for just the two of them, it was more than enough space.

The war had been over for a year, now, and for most of the Wizarding World, it was almost old news. Though he didn't want to forget by any means, Harry hoped that at some point, things wouldn't be quite as fresh in his mind. It was just that he figured he should have reached that point by now.

Life went on, though, even for him. As much as he'd fancied himself having a more peaceful life before, he'd not been able to resist Shacklebolt's offer to join the Aurors, and he'd finished his training last month. Between his assignments and missions, he barely had time to take a moment to think.

Not that he was particularly complaining about that. Everyone had a different way of dealing with things, he figured, and this was his.

When he felt her arms come around him from behind, he lifted his own unconsciously to cover hers across his stomach.

"You've not unpacked yet," she informs him, dipping a hand beneath the hem of his shirt. They'd moved in the previous night, and Hermione had had all of her things in their proper places within an hour. His were still in boxes.

"Figured I'd leave things be for now. Give you more room in the wardrobe." He smiled slightly and turned to her.

She arched a brow, giving him a Look. "You know perfectly well that I've probably got fewer clothes than you do, Harry Potter, so you can give that line to someone else." Grabbing his hand, she tugged him toward the bedroom. "I understand that you can be quite messy, but that's not really part of your charm. If we're to live together peacefully, you simply won't be able to leave your Auror robes on the floor. That's all there is to it."

"Hey -- Ron never complained."

"That's because Ron is even less neat than you," she told him matter-of-factly. "Honestly, the two of you living together for a year? I'm surprised you were able to find anything, the way things were always strewn about when I was there."

He smirked and took her by the waist when she started to reach for a box. "Oi. We did alright. And now there's half the mess, since Ron's now able to enjoy the single life in peace."

"More like sixty percent of the mess," she muttered, but she was nipping at his bottom lip and toying with the buttons on his shirt. "I'm not cleaning up after you, you know."

"Oh, I know." He chuckled and slid his hands over her hips. "You were always handier with a hex than a cleaning charm."

She smiled slowly and nodded toward the boxes. "I'm glad we've an understanding. Now for some follow through." She laughed and wiggled out of his grip when his hands moved to her bum. "Later, Potter. After dinner at the Burrow, remember?"

He shut his eyes briefly. He had, in fact, remembered, and purposely volunteered for that night's mission. "I can't. Shacklebolt's sent Seamus and me on assignment in Kent. I'll be too late to make it."

He watched Hermione's eyes darken almost imperceptibly before she sighed. "It's been months since you've seen them, Harry, and that was only for a few minutes. Arthur's death wasn't your fault," she added quietly. "You can't go on thinking everything that happened in the war is your responsibility. And you can't avoid them forever."

"I'm not," he said with a jerky shrug, before he moved to yank clothes out of the first box he touched. "I've just got work."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a lot of work after that, he remembers, backing away from the window and taking a moment to let his eyes adjust. When he'd started working full-time with the Aurors, it had just been that much easier to throw himself into work and avoid the fact that he wasn't alright.

Moving in with Hermione just meant that it became harder to hide it from her. It meant she had come to have firsthand knowledge of how many nightmares he was still having because she was the one to shake him awake from them, and blink in confusion when he'd snap at her rather than talk about them -- even though she was probably one of the two people in his world who would understand. Living together also meant that she was up nights waiting for him, worrying about him, when he was off on another assignment. When they both knew he didn't always have to go. He remembers coming home night after night to find her sitting on the couch, and the relieved look on her face each time, just from seeing him walk through the door, because he couldn't be bothered to stop taking on danger because she wanted him safe.

Ah, god, he was such an insensitive bastard. Too wrapped up in his own issues to realize he was hurting her. Such an idiot that even now every time he thinks about it he startles himself all over again.

He places a hand against the wall, leaning, as his heart races and he's sure she isn't coming. How many times can he really expect her to let him toss her concern back into her face? But if she does come ...

Harry scratches his chin and begins to pace the broken-down room, back and forth as he listens to rubble crumble under his feet. He just needs this chance, and he can only hope she gives it to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This time, when he came home, she wasn't waiting for him. He didn't see her on the sofa with her book, or puttering around the kitchen with tea. She wasn't in the bedroom, sleeping in the same position where she'd settled back to wait for him.

Harry paced the flat, worried, but sure that she was just out with Ginny or one of her friends from work. Not like that was unusual, or a big deal at all. She'd be back soon. Knowing all this, of course, didn't stop him looking around the flat again as if she'd appear if he just looked hard enough. When he saw the note on the end table he snatched it up and lowered to the sofa. As he read it, he felt his insides dull.

It was short, and written in her precise script. She'd been called immediately to attend a conference in Bulgaria, where she'd be representing the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, as something had come up and her supervisor hadn't been able to go. She'd be gone for a few days. Had tried to wait for him to say goodbye, but he'd never showed and she'd had to go.

She hadn't even signed it.

A business trip. That was no big thing. But something about her letter felt different. Most likely, it wasn't all that different but later, when he'd remember this, he'd realize it was his own guilt kicking his arse. Over not being here to see her off today. Over not being there for her much at all during the past few months.

Fuck. Should he owl her? Call her boss or the Bulgarian Ministry and find out where she was staying? They didn't talk much at all in any given week these days, with him running out the door and never home until late, but now, when he couldn't talk to her -- and wasn't even sure she'd want to ... What if she didn't want to even see him again? Or, or, what if, while in Bulgaria, she ran into Viktor, who paid attention to her, and told her he'd miss her the most or whatever, and she just -- stayed there with him?

What if someone else could give her what she needed, and he'd lose her?

The knock on the door only barely kept him from going crazy, and he nearly ran to it. Maybe it was her.

"Hey, Harry -- what's up with you? Look like you were expecting someone else."

"Ron." He could only hope his face didn't fall too obviously as he stepped back to hold the door open. She'd not have knocked, you prat, he thought. "Hullo. Er, come in, mate."

He ran his hands through his hair and took a seat. "What're you doing here so late?"

"Hermione asked me to come and check on the Kneazle. Though, dunno why she asked me when Crooks'd turn round and waddle in the other direction if he saw me." Ron walked into the flat proper and looked around for the aging Crookshanks, finding him stretched out in his cat bed under the window. He nodded. "Right, then. Looks like he's fine." On a sigh, he heaved himself into an armchair. "Enjoying a bit of freedom while Hermione's gone?"

Harry was still trying to process all this. "You knew? She only left me a note. Didn't even sign it."

"Well, you're never home, are you?" Ron shrugged and stretched out his long legs. "Yeah, she popped over to my place and asked if I could check on Crookshanks tonight; make sure he still had food and such. Speaking of which, I'm starving. Have you got anything good?" He got to his feet and walked to the kitchen to root through the refrigerator.

"But -- I'm right here. I can look into the corner and see Crookshanks just as easily as you can."

Ron popped his head up from behind the refrigerator door, swallowing something. "Said she didn't know when you'd be home, so she wanted to make sure Crooks was taken care of for tonight."

"Damn it," he muttered as Ron came over with a sandwich and some crisps. "Why didn't she come find me at work or something?"

"Don't ask me," Ron said with a shrug as he reached for a crisp. "I never know what's going on with her. 'xpect she gets tired of always waiting for you, though. Told me she wanted to say goodbye or something, but you weren't around. Said the trip was sudden, so."

"Yeah, I got that," Harry said, gesturing irritably to the note. "But I would've -- I would've been here, if I'd known."

"She worries about you, mate," Ron said quietly, pausing before he took a drink of butterbeer. "I mean, she talks to me, sometimes, with you always working. Makes you sound like a right git, some of the things she says." He tipped up the bottle and took another long drink. "Which ... dunno. Thought you two were always pretty solid."

"We are solid." Harry straightened and leaned forward. "Always have been."

Ron lifted his brows, then picked up his sandwich. "Might want to ask Hermione if she feels the same," he said, and tucked into his food.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione's due back today, and the last few days have been torture. Thinking back on them now, he's not sure how he's managed to stay sane. She hasn't answered any of his owls. Ironically, he hasn't buried himself in work the way he did when she was home. He's been much too stressed to take on the extra workload -- and honestly, not knowing how she is or being able to speak with her for four days, he's ready to sod it all just to be with her.

It's unbelievable, really, how much not having her around makes him see how thoroughly he's taken her for granted. And he feels like the biggest prat on the planet because whatever issues he still has, she's the absolute last thing from which he'd ever need to escape. He's only been making things worse by trying to not deal with things, when all he really needs is her.

She's what's kept him from falling into himself all these years, and he doesn't know his life without her.

He lets out a shaky breath and lowers himself to sit right on the ground. He's not been able to sit still since he got here, but all the moving and pacing isn't helping him not to lose his mind with worry, so he might as well conserve his energy. He tucks his legs close to his chest and rests his back against the wall.

When he hears footsteps, he looks up, and his gaze lands right on hers. She's standing across the room, still in her tidy work clothes.

He remains where he is despite wanting to stand and scoop her up. He's halfway certain he's imagined her. Conjured her up as if this were the bloody Room of Requirement, or something. She doesn't say anything either, though, and in his own wishful thinking, she'd have walked to him and told him he'd been worried about nothing. So, yeah. She's real. He gets to his feet.

They haven't yet talked about any of this, and she knows nothing except what he scrawled in his note to her this morning but, for the moment, he can only look at her, a thousand 'Forgive me's on his tongue. He knows they aren't enough, that it's been too long for it to be that easy, but. She's here, and he remembers golden flecks in close brown eyes all over again, remembers precisely cut carrots in his stew and fresh-shampoo hair when she kisses his forehead on her way out before he's up, and he can't imagine how he hasn't always known how much he needs this.

When he's close enough to touch her, he does, just a tentative brush against her shoulder before he trails his hand down her arm to grip her fingers. When their eyes meet again and she steps closer, her expression curious, cautious -- but open, he can't help but believe they'll figure it out.

End
_ _ _ _

So

2007-08-03T17:17:19Z

Er, just got this journal because things are going nuts at LJ. Again.

*waves to ya'll* Still have (and want to use) my LJ, but this is just a post to let anyyone who cares know that I'm here, too. If you want, friend away. :)


1	2	3	4

5	6	7	8

9	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24

25	26	27	28

29	30	31	32

33	34	35	36

37


1	2	3	4

5	6	7	8

9	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24

25	26	27	28

29	30	31	32

33	34	35	36

37


1	2	3	4

5	6	7	8

9	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24

25	26	27	28

29	30	31	32

33	34	35	36

37