Testing Defenses

A/N: This is a revised Harry/Multi version of the story posted with the same name on ff.net and portkey.org. I took out all of the preaching and replaced it with R-rated smut. I think it reads better, and hope that those who read the original think so too. Thanks to chemprof for his after-alpha help improving this fic.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

Chapter 1: Hermione's Visit

The touch of a young witch's fingertips caught Harry Potter by surprise.

“Shhhsh, Harry,” the young witch said, as she pulled him into a loose embrace. “It's just a bad dream…everything's going to be alright.”

“Hermione?” the young wizard asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Testing defenses,” the muggleborn witch replied, as she sat beside him.

“What time is it?” asked Harry, as he reached for his glasses.

Hermione glanced at the analog alarm clock propped on Dudley's old desk.

“Almost midnight.”

“Really?”

“You were having a nightmare, so I decided…”

“You could tell I was having a nightmare from your parent's house and decided to come help me?”

“Well, not quite,” replied, Hermione, as she reached down into her bag and retrieved a bottle of water.

“Something to drink?”

Harry nodded as he sat up in bed and reached to turn on the desk lamp. When he turned back to grab the water bottle he was startled by his first good look at what Hermione was wearing.

“Erm…thanks,” Harry stammered, his mind suddenly focussed on something other than quenching his thirst.

Hermione followed Harry's line of sight down towards her thin spaghetti-strapped camisole.

“Looking at my scar, Harry?” she asked, with a tinge of amusement in her voice.

The Boy-Who-Saw-Breasts jerked his gaze back to Hermione's eyes and flushed red with embarrassment. He looked down long enough to realize that there was indeed a long white scar line that started at her left collarbone and disappeared into the hint of cleavage peeking out of the skimpy garment.

“Erm…yeah, the scar,” he said. “Does it still hurt?”

Hermione shook her head. “No pain at all today…I just have some scar minimizing salve to apply for another week or so.”

Harry nodded, his mind thrown back to the subject of his nightmares.

“I'm sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head slightly. “No, it's my fault…I didn't change out of my nightshirt when I slipped out of the house.”

“No…I mean about you getting hurt.”

As Harry's voice broke Hermione reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Sshhh, Harry, it's okay…I'm alive….really….”

“But Hermione what if the next time…”

“The next time I'll duck,” she decided. Hermione then pulled back from the hug and smiled. “And in between what happened and what's going to happen, you and I and the others….we need to work hard and play hard.”

“What?”

“Work hard and play hard,” she repeated.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, still not cottoning on.

Hermione sighed. “You know, when I was laid up in the Infirmary, and thinking about what had happened, I realized that…well, I realized that I didn't want to die before I had lived.”

“What's that mean?”

An enigmatic smile crept onto Hermione's face as she placed a fingertip on Harry's lips, then dragged it down his chin, then neck, then bare chest. “There's more to life than books and cleverness…like friends, and benefits, and…Harry?”

Harry looked up and immediately felt guilty…he'd been distracted by a pair of hardening nipples.

“Sorry.”

Hermione's smile masked the cheer that was ringing out in her head. She oh-so-slowly covered her chest with an arm, and replied, “No, 'I'm sorry, Harry, I guess the cami was distracting you.”

“No need to apologize.”

“So it doesn't matter what I wear around you, Harry?” asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow.

“Erm, no…I mean yes….I mean…you should be comfortable, especially now that it's summer and you don't need to hide those…I mean…now that you don't need to wear a school uniform.”

Trying to change the subject, he asked, “So how did you get out of your house…and find this one…and get past whoever is on guard duty tonight?”

“I could hear Dung snoring from half-way down the block,” she replied. “As for finding your street address, well…yesterday afternoon I asked Mum and Dad to follow your uncle here from King's Cross…I was a little worried about that shade of puce your uncle was sporting after Mad-Eye and the others had words with him. Did you know that we only live about twelve miles apart as the broom flies?”

“No, I didn't.” Craning his neck towards the darkened window, Harry then asked, “So… twelve miles…where did you get a broomstick?”

Hermione laughed. “Harry, I'd do almost anything for you,” she cooed, dragging a finger up his linen-covered thigh. “But flying solo on a broomstick?” She shook her head and then explained that her parents had purchased a motorized scooter for her to use over break.

“And your parents?”

Hermione chuckled as she reached down and pinched his thigh, which was covered only by a threadbare, translucent sheet. “I put a mild muggle-repelling charm on both my bedroom door and yours.”

“You did what?” Harry asked. “But you're still underaged, aren't you?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Hermione replied, “Did I ever tell you that I've been doing some part-time consulting with Fred and George? I stopped by their place today and picked up a bag of goodies that included a pad of charmed Post-its. Each muggle-repelling note is reusable.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “That's rather creative…not to mention sneaky. What happened to my best friend the prefect?”

“I blame it all on your corrupting influences, Mr. Potter,” his best friend replied, punctuating her comment with another thigh squeeze. “That, and my acceptance of the fact that many things can be justified in the name of the greater good.”

“Greater good?” asked Harry. “Hmmm…not that I'm complaining about your company, but how are you rationalizing that line of reasoning?”

“Simple,” Hermione replied. “I told Professor Dumbledore that you shouldn't be kept isolated this summer, and expressed concern about the level of protection provided here on Privet Drive.”

“And…”

“And he said that you needed some time alone, and that this was the safest place in the world for you right now.”

“And…”

“And I respectfully disagreed,” stated Hermione. “Then he said that we couldn't write to you, just like last year, and you remember how well that worked out, right?”

Harry nodded.

“The Headmaster was talking about owls being tracked, so I suggested that the Order members that are guarding you could pass letters back and forth for us.”

“What did he say to that?”

“That the Order has orders not to approach you or your relatives for fear that they'd incite your Aunt and Uncle.”

“Well, a bit late for that,” Harry grunted. “They might have meant well, but like you said, Uncle Vernon was furious when Mad-Eye and the others tried to intimidate him at King's Cross.”

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked. “He seemed to have it under control, at least from the car to your front door.”

Harry shook his head. “He's well practiced on keeping up appearances within sight of the neighbors. Once the door was closed he locked my trunk up under the stairs and sent me straight up here to my room…I've had no food since and only been let out once to use the loo.”

Hermione nodded sympathetically as she reached back into her bag and pulled out a Styrofoam container and a piece of crockery. “I was afraid of that, so I brought you some of mum's curry, a bit of fruit, and a magical chamber pot.”

“A magical chamber pot? Where did you find that?”

“A second-hand shop in the Alley.”

“You bought me a used chamber pot?” asked Harry.

“Well…you could always think of it as 'refurbished',” Hermione said playfully. “Consider it an early birthday present”

“Thanks, just what I always wanted.”

“You're welcome, Harry…so where was I? Oh yes, when I asked why you had to come back at all the Headmaster gave me the standard reply about your mum's protection needing to be recharged, and the strength of the wards around the house. He wasn't too happy when I then asked why guards were needed if the wards were that strong.”

“Let me guess…the guards are here to keep me inside more than to keep the bad guys outside.”

“Right in one, I'm afraid,” agreed Hermione. “But that didn't stop me from insisting that there was wisdom in the phrase 'Trust, but verify.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that it's not enough to trust that the wards will keep you safe…we need to verify that fact. It was hard to refute that logic, so the Headmaster and I reached an agreement.”

“You two reached an agreement about my staying here?” asked Harry. “And where was I during all this?”

“Erm…holed up in your dormitory, I'm afraid,” Hermione said. “Look, Harry, I know I should have asked you before, but….I guess I didn't want to get your hopes up about getting any visitors this summer in case I wasn't able to break through the wards.”

Harry nodded, finding it hard to stay mad at Hermione. “So…about this agreement?”

Hermione reached back into her bag (which Harry thought must have had a charmed interior, given its size) and pulled out that morning's edition of The Daily Prophet and a small magical camera. “Professor Dumbledore said that if I could discover your location, sneak past the wards and Order guards, enter your room, and lay hands on you that he'd consider moving you away from your Aunt and Uncle's.”

Harry thought that this was the best news that he'd heard since Madame Pomfrey told him that Hermione would make a full recovery from Dolohov's curse, but tried to temper his enthusiasm.

“He only promised to consider it?”

Hermione nodded. “I said that it was a compromise,” she explained.

“So what's with the newspaper and camera?”

Hermione brightened up. “Documentation…I'll give Dumbledore a picture of you and me holding up today's newspaper as a kind of date stamp.”

“Date stamp?”

“That's right,” said Hermione. “Of course, since I've already read it, once the picture is taken I might as well leave it behind, right?”

Harry glanced at the lead story on the newspaper's front page and smiled.

“You are a crafty one, Hermione Granger,” he said with admiration. “Except for one detail.”

“What's that?”

“Need someone to snap the picture.”

Hermione smiled as she set the camera on Harry's desk and aimed it towards him.

“Delayed exposure button,” she explained.

Harry's eyes went wide, not so much from the response, but from the view provided down Hermione's night shirt as she leaned over to look into the camera's viewfinder. The scar tracked straight through the valley, in between breasts that were swaying rather freely.

“Harry,” snarked Hermione, “I'm supposed to be the one checking out the view right now.”

“Oh, erm…sorry, Hermione,” Harry replied bashfully. “I spotted the scar, and that got me thinking, and worrying….”

“And wondering if I need help applying that salve?” asked Hermione with a smile. “Well, I think those bright red cheeks will look lovely in the picture.”

Before Harry could reply she set the camera timer and dashed back to the bed. One hand wrapped around Harry's waist as the other held the newspaper's front page in front of them.

“Smile, now.”

“Well that's an easy enough request,” Harry replied, as he wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulder.

Once the camera flashed Hermione dropped the newspaper down onto the bed. Neither dropped the arm that was wrapped around the other.

“So…”

“So, it's late and you should be getting back,” replied Harry.

“Eager to kick me out, after all the effort I made to get here?”

“No, of course not,” Harry replied. “It's just that….so how did you get inside my room, anyway?”

Hermione stretched her legs so that she could snake her hand into the front pocket of her tight black jeans. After a bit of squirming (of which no small portion involved physical contact with Harry's side), she produced a small pocket knife.

“Another slightly-used birthday present,” she explained, placing the object in Harry's hand. “I know it can't replace the one that Sirius gave you, but it works just as well when it comes to picking locks.”

A surge of emotion welled up inside Harry as Hermione's comments forced him to think again of Sirius's death and the disastrous night inside the Department of Mysteries. He turned the small red object over in his hand, only to discover that it was engraved:

Harry - My door is always open for you - Hermione

What Harry thought was, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

What Harry said was, “Oh, Hermione, you really didn't need to…”

“Of course I did,” Hermione replied. “It was either that or personalize the chamber pot.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “So you picked the front door lock?”

Hermione nodded. “I thought that I'd have to pick the lock to your bedroom door, as well, but for some reason all of the locks were on the other side of the door.”

“Yes, well, doesn't matter so much this summer…I don't really care to see my relatives either.”

“What do you mean, 'this summer'?” Hermione asked. “They've locked you in before?”

Harry nodded, then reached back around Hermione's waist to keep her from jumping off of the bed to hex his Aunt and Uncle.

“Please don't,” he asked. “That'd only get the underage owls flying.”

After a loud and deep sigh, Hermione nodded, and pulled Harry into a hug.

“Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry…I never realized just how horrible they were to you…just how horrible of a friend am I?”

“Sshhh, stop that,” Harry said. “You're my best friend, and you're here now making things so much better than I have a right to expect.”

“I'll have none of that wallowing self-pity,” said Hermione. She then saw Harry's failed attempt to stifle a yawn and suddenly lost the nerve to do more than drop hints about the benefits that could come with friendship.

She then said, “Why don't you lay down and go back to sleep?”

Harry shook his head. “And be even poorer company that I am presently? No thanks, I'll wait until you leave.”

Hermione snorted. “Well that might be a while, Harry, because I've got a book to read and plans to make sure those nightmares don't get the better of you tonight.”

“You mean you want to spend the night?”

Shrugging her shoulders again, Hermione replied, “I can always sleep during the day when my parents are at work.”

“I don't know…I wouldn't want you to get into trouble on account of me.”

“No worries, Harry, I've had lots of experience ducking trouble on your account….now sleep.” To emphasize her command, Hermione stood, pushed Harry's shoulders down to the mattress, took his glasses from his face, and pulled his thin blanket up over him.

“Don't know if I can fall asleep with you in the room,” Harry replied.

Hermione smiled as she leaned over to kiss Harry's forehead.

“Well you're going to have to try, Harry, because I'm going to need to use that chamber pot sometime soon and I'd rather you be asleep at the time.”

Harry laughed quietly. “That comment's not going to help, you know.”

Pushing Harry's shoulder down with a fake pout, Hermione replied, “Be a good boy, Harry, and I'll let you play doctor in the morning.”

“That thought is definitely not going to help me sleep.”

As she took out her book and sat on Harry's desk chair, Hermione quipped, “But will it give you something nice to dream about?”

“Most definitely.”

Hermione smiled as she leaned over and kissed Harry's forehead. “Then the thought's done its job. Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Hermione.”

oo00OO00oo

When Harry woke he felt better rested than he had for days. Remembering the pleasant dreams that he'd experienced, Harry wondered just how much they had been influenced by Hermione's presence (not to mention her body, which was presently spooned tightly against his back). But he didn't wonder too long, as there was a much more pressing issue to address - how to extricate himself from Hermione's grasp without revealing his morning condition (and its tenting effect).

When Harry tried to slip out from Hermione's embrace she murmured a sleepy protest and snuggled more tightly against him. He then tried some self-distraction with thoughts of Umbridge and Neville's socks, only to determine that his physiological response had more to do with a full bladder than female company. As a last resort he turned over onto his stomach and whispered a morning greeting.

“Hermione? You need to wake up, it's almost dawn.”

“Too tired,” she replied weakly. “Need sleep.”

“Hermione…do you realize that you're sharing a bed with me?”

“Uh - huh,” she said with the curl of a grin. “Feels good.”

Harry paused, wondering just what to do next. He went with something safe.

“Erm…what happened last night?”

“Another bad dream,” Hermione replied, as she propped herself up on an elbow and adjusted her camisole (which was twisted, but still concealing). “You started into another nightmare soon after you fell asleep, and the only thing that seemed to help was when I held you, and I was only going to do that until you calmed down, but then I must have fallen asleep, and….”

“Thanks, Hermione…it worked like magic.”

Hermione chuckled. “Well I am a witch, you know.”

Harry nodded. “You are a good friend, too…too good.”

“Stop!” interrupted Hermione. “Had enough of that wallowing last night.”

“Alright,” said Harry. “So, you really should get going, before my relatives wake up.”

“Right,” Hermione replied. “Will you check if Dung is still out there dead to the world? He was propped up inside the hedge out front.”

“Erm, sure, no problem…except, I'll need you to turn around and close your eyes.”

“What for?”

“Because, well…. I need to test drive that magical chamber pot, and it shows.”

“It shows?” asked Hermione. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighed. “My body, Hermione…in the morning…a full bladder...”

“Oh, I see…of course…” Hermione stammered, as her neck and cheeks flushed red. Despite her obvious embarrassment, Harry noticed a thin smile on Hermione's lips as she closed her eyes and turned away from the bed. He quickly did his business, thankful that the magical chamber pot had a built-in silencing charm.

“There's a wizard wipe on the top of the bookshelf,” Hermione said, with eyes still shut.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, as he put the magical hand cloth to good use.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Almost,” replied Harry.

“Guess you have to develop a large bladder when you only get to go once a day,” Hermione quipped.

“No, it's not that…just waiting for…well, you know…”

“Oh, right. So does it take long to…erm, deflate?”

Harry chuckled, despite himself. “Deflate?” he asked. “It's not a balloon, you know.”

“Well, what verb should I be using then?”

“Erm…soften usually works.”

“Right….still softening, then?”

“Hermione, the less we talk about the process, the faster it will go.”

Hermione giggled. “Didn't know I had that kind of effect on you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry's eyebrows lifted up into his hairline. “Would you really want to know if you did?” But as if he were afraid to get an answer to his own question, he quickly added, “You can turn around now.”

Hermione turned to find Harry holding out his invisibility cloak.

“Here, this should help if you need to take a turn.”

Smiling, Hermione shook her head as she stepped over to her bag, reached in, and retrieved a small wide-mouth jar.

“I need to put something else on first.”

“Erm…what's that?”

“Scar diminishing salve…I promised that you could help, remember?”

Harry's eyes went wide.

“Erm….are you sure that you want me to….”

Hermione nodded as she slipped the spaghetti straps of her camisole off of her shoulders.

“Harry, this scar…Madame Pomfrey said that it will never completely go away.”

“Oh, Hermione…if there's anything I could do.”

The young witch nodded as she handed the jar of salve to Harry. “There is, actually.” She then pulled her top down to her waist, exposing both scar and bare breasts.

“Make my boo-boo feel better.”

Harry gulped, too shocked to do anything other than comply. With a dollop of healing goop on the tip of two fingers he stepped forward, reached out, and touched Hermione's collar bone.

They both shivered at the sensation.

“It doesn't hurt, Harry,” Hermione said, as she slipped the camisole down over her hips and stepped out of it. “Don't be afraid to rub it into my skin.”

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes tightly focussed on his fingers and not the bare-breasted witch whose thumbs were now hooked in the belt loop of her black jeans. As he made his way down her chest, he couldn't help but touch the sides of Hermione's lemon-sized breasts…just the right size to cup in his hand…and couldn't help blushing.

“So, is it ugly, Harry?”

“Erm wha?….no, they're beautiful.”

“I was talking about the scar.”

“It's beautiful too.”

“Harry?”

“Oh, well, not as beautiful as your….as the rest of you, of course, but…”

Hermione reached up and cradled a breast in each hand. She jiggled them a bit, as if gauging their weight, then lazily drew each index finger up and over her perky nipples.

“So…do you really think I have beautiful breasts?”

Harry stammered out a “Yes.”

“Compared to what?”

“Sorry?”

Hermione smiled. “I just wondered if you'd ever seen another uncovered pair…you know, to serve as a baseline for your evaluation.”

Harry hemmed and hawed. “Hermione, you already know the answer.”

“I do?”

“Hermione…I told you about Cho…and the kiss…you know that's the sum total of my experience with witches.”

Harry's fingers had just reached her hipbone, and the edge of her scar.

“Ummm…all done I guess.”

Hermione nodded. “Thanks, for the magic fingers.”

“No worries, always have a few to spare…I am a wizard, you know.”

Harry grinned at his own joke as he turned his back to Hermione, scraped the residual salve from his fingertips, and capped the jar. He had expected Hermione to pull her shirt up in the interim, so he was rather surprised when he turned back around and found her still half-naked, with one finger tracing her scar and two eyes staring at him intently.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Hermione?”

“When I told you about Viktor, and that one kiss….that's the sum total of my experience with wizards.”

Harry nodded, as his lips curled into an impish grin.

“Would the sum be any greater if you added witches?”

Hermione snorted. “In your dreams, Potter.”

“What if I said that you'd be right?”

“I'd say that you were a typically horny teen-aged boy, and that there was hope for you yet.”

Harry chuckled.

“Are we flirting, Hermione?”

“What do you think, Harry?”

“Can't really say…not a lot of other banter to compare it to. What do you think?”

“I think I'm in the same boat with you.”

Harry nodded. She still hadn't made a move to cover herself, and he was quite certain that he'd never be able to think of his best friend without this indelible image coming to mind. He was a little less certain, but still optimistic, that her lack of action was intentional.

“I couldn't think of a place I'd rather be.”

Hermione smiled, and took a step forward. Reaching out to grab his arm, she said, “So you and me, alone in a boat….”

Harry smirked. “You said we were in the same boat…didn't say anything about us being alone.”

“What, would you like to have spectators?”

“Would we be doing anything in this boat that we wouldn't want them to see?”

“Hmmmm,” said Hermione, mulling it over. “I imagine that would depend on how well we know them, or if you have an exhibitionist streak in you.”

“Me?an exhibitionist?” asked Harry. “I'm not the one showing off my lovely bits right now.”

“Is that a complaint?” Hermione asked, as she grabbed his other arm.

“Not at all.”

“Good,” Hermione decided, as she pulled Harry's bare chest onto hers and hugged tight. She leaned her head up just as Harry's head was leaning down, and they met half-way in a kiss that wasn't at all soggy.

Harry was trying to obliviate-proof and archive this memory when he heard banging on his door.

“Boy! Get your arse out of bed and start the bacon!”

Harry broke the embrace and dashed for the invisibility cloak. Hermione realized why when the sound of lock mechanisms came from the door. She took the cloak from Harry and disappeared just as the door banged open.

Vernon snarled. “You got thirty seconds to use the loo.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he said dolefully.

As Harry made his way towards the door, he felt an invisible hand squeeze his bum. He assumed that it was Hermione's way of silently saying good bye. That, or she was trying to cop a feel.

But Harry didn't have the luxury of pondering the issue, as he was rather busy trying desperately to keep a goofy grin off of his face.