AN: I wrote this the same night as `Stolen Moments'. But waited a day or so to post it. Mostly because I was not happy with the first result. This is a sequel to that story. If you have not read it, you may not get the premise of this. But then again maybe you will. Hopefully you will enjoy this, as it seems, you have enjoyed its predecessor. Please leave a review when you are done, I love to hear what you all think.

*****

The fire crackled, pages turned with a quiet rustle, and soft groans from the floor above, combined with the occasional shifting of a body asleep in a bed, filled the otherwise quiet room.

A small, solitary figure sat on the old battered, but still very comfortable couch. Her small frame curled into a tight ball, a book balanced precariously on her lap.

The shadows danced behind her where the light did not quite reach. However, she did not pay these things much attention. Her chestnut curls tumbled around her shoulders, as her honey colored eyes busily flitted over the printed words, absorbing their knowledge like a thirsty traveler after a long journey.

Her mind, however, was not entirely on her task. It had drifted slightly as she continued to read, pulling the faded flannel shirt she wore tighter around her. The mixture of soap and earth drifting to her nostrils as she did so.

She smiled at this. The shirt after all was his. His as in Harry's.

Warmth spread through her at the thought of him. Then her heart contracted a little.

It still amazed her at times that he was really hers. That this man loved her as much as she loved him. If not more.

No longer was he the awkward teenager or lost eleven-year-old boy she had once known. In their place was a man who had seen far too much in his young life. And had been forced into adulthood far too early than any child should.

And yet, she loved him. She loved him because of that. And because even though he had grown into adult that fast, he was still a kid at heart most of the time.

It killed her to hide it. Hide it from those she cared for the most. It killed her to hide it from Ron especially.

Ron who had been her best friend these last seven years. Who had remained loyal despite the obvious dangers, even through that one falling out in fourth year.

Ron, who at one time, had fancied her. The pain of all but shattering his heart when he finally plucked up the courage to ask her out a few days ago, tore at her.

The utter look of defeat in his eyes had sent jolts through her. Knowing that something that had taken him so much courage to do had been for naught.

And still, she could not tell him, because it was a secret. Lest Voldemort find out. Thus the need to ensure that their secret survived. That no one would figure it out.

This meant secret, stolen moments. Moments that lasted only seconds at best sometimes. While others lasted hours.

It seemed like forever though, since they had met last. Her heart pounding in anticipation of seeing Hedwig at the window, tapping lightly as not to wake anyone above. Harry's note secured to her leg, charmed so that none save Hermione could read it.

Lately, their meetings had actually grown in frequency. Sometimes they pushed it by meeting twice in a day.

But it seemed as if time had stopped since their last meeting. The ach of waiting until their next a constant reminder of the secret they shared. Not knowing what or when things were going to impede on them.

However, more often than not too, was the feeling of unease that had begun to creep into their meetings.

The time for the Final Battle was coming. She could feel it. Harry could feel it. It was only a matter of time now. Time, it seemed suddenly, was something they did not have much of.

And so their meetings sometimes had the feeling of it being their last. The fact that Voldemort could attack at any moment lingering in their minds.

It scared her. A lot.

She did not want to lose Harry. Not after finding him so to speak so recently.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Hermione forced her thoughts away from that subject. Instead, focusing on her next meeting with Harry.

He had promised to let her know soon when they could meet next. And where. As both the time of their meetings and the place for them always changed.

“So no one will figure out a pattern,” he had said.

She smiled at little as she remembered their last meeting. Harry had found a beautiful forest, which seemed alive with birds and other creatures. Deep within this forest was an almost hidden paradise. A wide clearing, for lack of a better word, with a wide basin in the middle, filled with clear, sparkling water.

Water where they had made love. One of the sweetest memories she had, one that she would cherish forever.

But sometimes, sometimes when the whole thing seemed overwhelming, she almost wished someone would notice a pattern.

Notice how they both seemed to disappear at the same time. Reappearing together some interminable time later.

Notice how disheveled their hair was.

His fingers snagged on a knot somewhere, causing him to tug gently to free them, breaking their kiss for a minute.

Or notice how swollen their lips were.

He bit softly on her bottom lip, sweeping his tongue into her waiting mouth as it fell open, inviting him to explore.

Just anything. Anything at all.

.She desperately wanted to shout that he was hers. And hers alone.

Especially when some girl would come up to him, all stuttering and giggly (Honestly!), trying to flirt with her Harry.

The urge to hex these utter twittering birds seemed to grown in intensity each time this particular event occurred. Regardless of course, that Harry always politely turned them down.

Again, she forced herself to push her thoughts aside.

Bending forward again, she began to once more let her eyes skitter across the pages of her book. Seeking out the knowledge she so craved.

“One day,” she said aloud, “One day soon our worries will be gone.” And Hermione would wait patiently for that day to come.