Title: Nothing's Changed

Rated: PG-13

Pairings: H/Hr

Word Count: 2846 (One Shot)

Summary: The natural progression of Harry and Hermione's relationship. This is unbetaed, so please forgive any errors.

This was a little birthday present for tome_raider on LJ. She's a fabulous friend and beta, and I am blessed immeasurably to know her. *loves*

A small pop announced a woman's arrival in the dark sitting room. The large ginger cat, previously lazing on the sofa, tensed warily for just a moment, then leapt to the floor. He scurried to his mistress, purring happily as he wound himself around her legs.

“Hello, Crookshanks,” Hermione whispered as she set her baggage down with a quiet thunk. “Miss me?”

Crookshanks answered with a quiet, “Raoooww,” and continued rumbling his way around her shins.

“I'm sure Harry took good care of you,” Hermione bent to scratch him behind the ears where he liked it most and he leaned into her hand. “In fact, I'll bet you had more than your share of treats, hmmm?”

Crookshanks lifted what he hoped were innocent-looking eyes to hers.

Hermione chuckled. “Don't think you can fool me with the puppy eyes.”

Crookshanks looked extremely taken aback at the use of the word “puppy”, and the Half-Kneazle stalked away with his tail in the air.

“Sorry, sweet. Didn't mean to offend,” Hermione had the grace to say, but couldn't help grinning at her pet's haughty behaviour.

Hermione's eyes adjusted to the low light and she took in her surroundings. She took in a deep breath and her nose wrinkled at the scent of stale pizza and butterbeer. She rolled her eyes and made a mental note to open the windows first thing in the morning and air the place out. And freshen the potpourri. Hermione loved her boys, but they could generate smells that…well, goodness sakes.

The flat Hermione had shared with Harry and Ron for three years now was quiet and mostly dark, save for the light trickling through a slight opening in the bathroom door down the hall. The quiet let her know that Ron wasn't home, as his snoring would have rumbled from the back bedroom. The bathroom light, however, signaled to Hermione that Harry was there.

Very few people, no one other than Hermione and Ron, in fact, knew that Harry disliked the dark. He wasn't necessarily afraid of it, but felt more comfortable when it wasn't pitch-black in their home. When Hermione and Ron were home, Harry usually shut his door and used the Snitch nightlight that Hermione had given him a few Valentine's Days ago.

Hermione tip-toed down the hall and looked in on Harry as he slept. She smiled and shook her head as she saw him curled up in a tight ball in his bed, the covers in a tangle beside him. Slipping out of her shoes, she stepped into his room and stretched the covers back over him. He stirred just a bit, settling back into his sheets, then sighed in his sleep.

Harry's glasses were peeking from under his pillow, so Hermione wriggled them out and put them on his bedside table beside his wand. She then smoothed Harry's hair from his eyes, smiling wryly as the stubborn strands simply returned to their original places. She tried again even though she knew it was futile.

“Someone needs to watch over you,” Hermione whispered on a smile, her fingers lingering in his hair.

“Herrrmiiioneee,” Harry mumbled in his sleep as his hand reached to cover hers.

Surprised, Hermione chuckled quietly and tried to slide her hand from under Harry's, but he made a soft noise of protest and pulled her hand down against his chest.

Hermione's laugh died in her throat as she felt his warm skin through the soft hair that sprinkled his chest. She'd never touched him this intimately before. He usually wore a t-shirt to bed along with some kind of pyjama bottoms, but apparently had forgone the shirt this night, thinking he'd have the house to himself.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Let go.”

His grip on her hand tightened as he pressed it more firmly to his chest. He slurred plaintively, “Nooo…wan' you stay heeere.”

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. “You're adorable, you know?” she whispered and nearly laughed when Harry's lips curved slightly in his sleep. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked in a soft voice as she bent closer to him.

“Staaay…”

“Can't,” Hermione whispered. “Crookshanks would be jealous.”

Harry's forehead furrowed and the corners of his lips quirked downward as he muttered something that sounded like, “Miiine…saw firs'.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, the beginning of a sarcastic reply forming on her lips, but then decided to keep quiet. In the stillness of the room, she became aware of Harry's heart beating steadily under her hand. Life. Made extra-precious because this life had nearly been lost—had hung in the balance for three days after battling Voldemort for the last time.

Hermione shivered at her memories, but the warmth from Harry's chest flowing through her hand brought her back to his room. A mental picture suddenly flitted across her brain—an image of her next to Harry in this bed, curving her body to his. And then of Harry turning towards her, folding his arms around her, pressing his lips to hers. Pressing himself to her. Hermione's vision ended on a sigh, and silently chiding herself, she shook her head to clear it. She hated when these kinds of thoughts invaded her mind—they made her feel distinctly unsettled, restless.

Just then, Harry shifted in his sleep, rolling away from Hermione, taking her hand with him and causing her to suddenly lurch forward. She tumbled right on top of Harry, and quick as a flash, Harry was suddenly on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with his body as he pressed the tip of his wand against her cheek.

“Who are you?!” Harry snarled. “What are you doing here?!”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped. “It's me!”

“Lumos!” Harry's wand cast a band of light across Hermione's startled features.

“Damn it, Hermione, you scared me to death!”

“Well, how do you think I felt?!” Hermione retorted, glaring into Harry's eyes which were hovering just above hers. The look on Harry's face just moments ago had been ferocious; she'd thankfully not seen that expression in a long time

“Well, what were you doing on top of me like that?!”

“You pulled me on top of you!”

“I did not!”

“You did too--in your sleep!”

“I—wait. You're not supposed to be here—what're you doing home early?”

“If you'll get off me, I'll tell you,” Hermione said, pointedly glancing down to where Harry's body rested on hers.

Harry seemed to suddenly become aware of their position and grinned. “What if I don't? I just might like this,” he said in a teasing voice as he waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh… You!” Hermione glared at him, but then her expression shifted to a knowing smirk. “I'm going to start squirming if you don't move." She shifted her hips against his almost imperceptibly.

Harry eyes flickered but he kept his grin. "Squirming, huh? That might be even better," he retorted in teasing challenge.

“Oh, really. So you'd like some squirming, hmm?” Hermione returned his grin with a wicked sparkle in her eyes. “Well, let's see how you like this!” She rolled over forcefully, dumping Harry onto the other side of his bed.

“Hey!” Harry pursed his lips in a fake pout. “You're doing all kinds of damage to my ego!”

Hermione chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, your huge, terrible ego. Here, darling…” She rolled over, her face hovering just centimeters above his, and summoned a sultry voice. “You, Harry Potter, are the most amazing, sexiest man alive, and I have to hold myself back from attacking you every minute of every day that I'm with you.” She finished on a grin and looked for Harry to return it.

But he didn't.

His eyes held hers for several uncomfortable beats, then he swallowed audibly and shifted himself away from her into a sitting position.

“So,” Harry started, then began folding the hem of his covers in between his fingers, “why're you home early—I thought you were meeting with someone in Spain?”

Hermione levered herself to a sitting position too, wondering what had just happened. In the past few years, she and Harry had usually been able to tease and laugh with each other, but something had changed in the blink of an eye and Hermione wasn't sure what had happened.

“I was,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice light as she glanced sideways at Harry. “The Head of the Spanish Department for Magical Creatures took ill earlier today, and I thought it best to come home instead of spending the night and using more of the foundation's money. His department's going to notify my office about scheduling another meeting.”

“Sorry that fell through,” Harry said with an apologetic look. “I know you'd been looking forward to speaking with him.”

Hermione nodded. “He seems to be on the cusp of supporting legislation that would be precedent-setting in the Wizarding World.” She continued earnestly, “We're so close! If just one country would begin to establish more rights for magical creatures, the others would follow, I'm sure.”

Harry briefly put his hand on Hermione's shoulder. “You've been working so long for this. I'm sure you'll win him over next time you meet.”

“I certainly plan to!” Hermione smiled back, grateful that she and Harry seemed to be back on familiar footing.

Harry relaxed, leaning back against his headboard, then flinched and quickly sat up straight again.

“Harry…what's wrong?” Hermione asked, snapping on the bedside lamp. She gasped when she saw scratches on his shoulders and arms. Harry shifted away from her purposely, but Hermione grabbed his wrist to hold him still. “Let me see!”

Harry sighed and turned his back toward her. “It's just a few scratches.”

“Just a few? How'd this happen?”

Harry mumbled something.

“What?” Hermione asked as her eyes widened at the colorful bruises that peppered Harry's back and disappeared into the waist band of his track pants.

“There was a little problem in Kent today,” Harry repeated audibly this time.

“What kind of problem?”

“You know I can't go into that with you,” Harry sighed, much to Hermione's chagrin. She hated that he couldn't discuss this new case he was working on, seemingly at all hours as of late. “Suffice it to say that a stairway collapsed under me.”

“A stairway!? Are you all right?!”

“I'm fine, okay?” Harry tried to reassure her. “The scratches sting a bit, and my muscles are sore, but otherwise, I'll live.”

“Have you put anything on them?” Hermione asked as she examined a particularly deep scratch on Harry's shoulder. “I'm going to kill Remus if he didn't make you go to St. Mungos—”

“Calm down. The mediwitch at St. Mungo's put something on them earlier this afternoon and gave me a potion for my muscles, but I think both have worn off now—ow, Hermione, go easy!” Harry hissed.

“Sorry!” Hermione apologized, but didn't remove her hand. “Want me to spread some Germolene on them? Might help with the stinging, too.”

Harry nodded. “Good idea—I forgot that you keep that Muggle stuff around. I don't know what it is with the Wizarding World and their inability to make a potion that doesn't sting or taste like dung. Potion makers must be closet sadists.”

Hermione retrieved the tube of ointment from the bathroom and sat back down behind Harry. She began to methodically smear ointment along Harry's back, working the medicine into the scratches as gently as she could. Harry flinched a few times, but the ointment seemed to be taking the sting away.

Hermione turned her attention to the deep scratch on Harry's shoulder, then shifted her body in front of his so that she could have a better view. She dabbed some of the medicine into the cut and Harry winced.

“Sorry!” Hermione said, and began to blow on the cut, just as her mother had for her when she was a child.

“What're you doing?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Blowing on it—takes the sting out,” Hermione answered, continuing to puff air at his shoulder.

“No, it doesn't,” Harry snorted.

Hermione laughed. “You're right. It really doesn't work, does it? I guess I did that on instinct. My mum always blew on my hurts when I had a cut or scrape and it never really helped. Didn't your aunt ever do that?”

“No,” Harry replied. “Although, now that you mention it, I think I remember her doing that for Dudley once when he had a skinned knee.”

“She didn't take care of you very well, then, did she?” Hermione's gaze hardened as she went back to smoothing the ointment over Harry's scratches.

Harry shook his head. “Guess not.”

“Well, no matter,” Hermione said briskly, wanting to pass over this subject quickly so as not to embarrass Harry, and hitching up a smile. “I'll take care of you.”

“I know.”

Something in Harry's voice made Hermione look up from her ministrations. She wasn't expecting his face to be so close to hers, and she certainly didn't expect Harry's lips to press against her cheek. But it was and they did.

Hermione froze for a moment, then turned her face slightly so that her lips met Harry's. She felt him become still for a moment, but then his lips began to slowly move. As his warm lips caressed hers, she felt as though something opened in her heart and unfurled. Hermione's hand skimmed from Harry's shoulder to rest on his chest as Harry's hands cupped Hermione's face, then slid to her shoulders as he pulled her closer.

Harry began to deepen their kisses and Hermione responded by gliding her tongue across his lips. He opened to her, invading her welcoming mouth with his tongue, as one of his hands slid into hair and the other slid from Hermione's shoulder to trace her collarbone. After a few moments his fingertips came to rest lightly on the tip of her breast.

Hermione gasped as the sensation of Harry's touch caused a sparkling wave of wonderfulness to shoot through her. She covered his hand with hers and pressed it more firmly against her breast.

“Hermione,” Harry breathed, breaking their kiss so that he could watch as her hand moulded his against her chest, “I want…”

Their eyes met for a long moment.

Then Harry began unbuttoning her blouse as quickly as he could while Hermione's hands fumbled with her buttons alongside his, trying to speed the process. After a few moments of frustration, Hermione batted Harry's hands away, and shifted quickly to her knees. She grasped the hem of her top with both hands and jerked the blouse over her head, heedless of the clinking buttons hitting the walls and floor.

All motion stopped and Harry eyes took on a feral gleam as he gazed at Hermione's lace-covered breasts. His hands rose to cover them as his thumbs began to glide over the firm points her nipples pressed into the fabric.

“Harry…” Hermione grasped Harry's shoulders to steady herself as these new sensations swept through her again.

Harry flinched at Hermione's hands on his wounds, but then distracted himself by dipping his fingers inside her bra and caressing the unbelievably soft skin he found there. He cupped one breast out of the lace and bent his face to run his lips and tongue over the swell of skin he held in his hand.

Hermione gasped, and then groaned, weakly leaning over until her cheek rested against the top of Harry's head as she tried to absorb the waves of pleasure he was giving her. She nearly went faint with dizziness when he freed her other breast in the same fashion.

After a few minutes, Hermione lifted Harry's face and kissed him again and again as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself to him and reveling in the feeling of Harry's chest pressed against her breasts. Harry returned her kisses as he reached round her to unclasp her bra. As the lace fell away, Harry leaned back and, when he had satisfied his eyes, looked at Hermione, his lips curving into an amazed smile.

“Do you—” Harry's green eyes were intent on Hermione's.

Hermione dipped her lips back to his in response, then pulled back slowly, a sweet look of wonder on her face as she whispered, “When did things change between us?”

Harry considered for a bit, then answered, “Nothing's changed. I think this is where we've been headed all along, whether or not we knew it. This is just the next step in our path.”

Hermione laughed. “Well… I guess you're right.”

Harry laughed with her. “What say we get on with it, then?”

“I'd like nothing better,” Hermione grinned as she allowed Harry to press her gently to his bed.