Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights to Fullmetal Alchemist and Harry Potter, as well as any other songs or other character references made in this story.

© Fullmetal Alchemist – Hiromo Arakawa

© Harry Potter – J.K. Rowling

Harry Potter

and the

Summer of Love

A Fan Fiction Fusion

By

Tattoo Alchemist

Chapter 1: Meet the Parents

Harry Potter and his friends had said their goodbyes to the Fullmetal Alchemist Edward Elric and his brother Alphonse Elric. They watched as the alchemists crossed the boundary that separated Platform 9 ¾ from the rest of King’s Cross Station. Harry saw that Edward Elric had crossed the threshold without even taking a second look back at him or his friends. Then again, Harry couldn’t blame him since he knew how Edward’s life was filled with horrors and tragedies much like his own.

As he thought about the departing alchemist, a hand touched his shoulder. He turned and saw Hermione Granger smiling back at him and with that one glance, all the thoughts about the previous year had simply melted away. He remembered that Hermione wanted him to meet her parents and admittedly Harry was a little nervous about them. All that he knew about Hermione’s parents was that they were dentists, since he remembered that one year when he got a dentists gift bag filled with the kind of staff that’s given after leaving the dentist office. So, beyond that, Harry was entering new territory, especially since he was going to meet them under the fact that Harry and Hermione were together.

Hermione could already read Harry’s emotions as they left Platform 9 ¾ for the rest of the station.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” She assured as she hugged his arm, “they’ll just love you.”

It was already a rather unusual thought to Harry, love, after all, would anyone know what love is growing up the way he did in the Dursley household where he was stuffed into a cupboard under the stairs like a dirty little secret? With something like that, could there really be people, adults that could love him for just being Harry and not the infamous Harry Potter?

The answer would come sooner than he thought when he and Hermione had finally reached the front entrance of King’s cross station. Parked at the curb of the station was a waiting deep red car, the moment that Harry looked up to it, the front doors opened and out came two people that Harry knew had to be Hermione’s parents. From the door that opened up at the curb came a woman who had deep brown hair. At first glance, Harry had thought that this woman could be Hermione’s older sister, but what she said drove him away from that notion.

“Hermione dear!” She called as she held out her open arms to her daughter.

“Hello mum!” Hermione called back as she leapt into the waiting arms of her mother.

Harry felt himself smile when he heard the voice of the father.

“So, this is the one you picked, right?” The voice asked. It wasn’t cold or sarcastic, it was warm and welcoming. It was something that Harry hadn’t heard since he was first starting at Hogwarts.

Harry looked over to the other side of the car and there he saw a rather tall man with shortly cut brown hair that was starting to turn gray around his ears. His deeply brown eyes looked at Harry in the same way that Dumbledore would look when there was a funny secret that only he and Harry knew.

“Yes, dad,” Hermione introduced, “this is Harry.”

“So wonderful to meet you at last,” Hermione’s mother said as she threw her arms around Harry’s neck.

Harry did feel awkward, since he had experienced similar hugs from Misses Weasley, but the way Hermione’s mother did it, there was gratitude in the way that she hugged him. Then again, it could be that Harry hardly ever experienced such affection from a mother aside from Misses Weasly. Pulling back, Hermione’s mother smiled at Harry.

“I can’t tell you how much I wanted to thank you for saving our daughter,” she expressed her gratitude.

Harry couldn’t’ help but be modest about the truth of the past events, “Well…Hermione did help out in more ways than one.”

“Hah!” Hermione’s father laughed, “He’s as modest as you said, love. Let’s load up your trunks; we’ve got a long way to go before we get home.”

“Where is your home, Hermione?” Harry asked as the two of them loaded their school trunks into the car.

“Most of the year we live in Wathomstol,” Hermione answered, “But our summer home is in Dover.”

“Loading his trunk into the car, Harry suddenly understood what was meant by a long way. Getting into the backseat, Hermione took her cat Crookshanks into her lap, while Harry set Hedwig’s cage on the floor of the car between his feet. He knew how Crookshanks chased Ron’s rat, Scabbars, all around school and he wasn’t going to risk an incident between the owl and the cat. At the front seats, Hermione’s parents climbed in but before the drive started, Hermione’s father turned around and said:

“By the way, Harry,” He said with a smile, “I’m Peter and my wife is Christine.”

Harry smiled back, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Harry didn’t know how long the drive from London to Dover took, for as soon as they had reached the city limits, he fell asleep. Even Hermione fell asleep with Crookshanks in her lap. The two of them were leaving against one another as they slept during the drive, and somehow, either by some unknown force or by sheer luck, their hands found each other and interlocked their fingers together. Despite the wonderfully loving sight of the two lovers, Harry was having a bad dream.

It was difficult to make sense of it at first, since it was at an old house he had never seen before. Even more, he saw through the eyes of a man that he had never met before in his life. Everything that Harry saw was a dream in the truest sense of the word; blurred edges of vision and hardly any time to stop and really think. Through the eyes of the unknown man, he looked through a slightly open door and saw the back of a chair with a man standing in front of it. He looked like he was talking to someone in that chair, but Harry couldn’t tell who. The moment that he stopped and tried to think about their identities, the door flung open and there came one phrase.

Avada Kedarva!

The phrase was followed by a green flash of light that had brought Harry fully awake. Once fully awake he could feel a thin layer of cold sweat all over his body. It took him a moment to regain his bearings since he expected to wake up back at that hellish house at Pivet Drive. Instead, he found himself in the backseat of that car that belonged to Peter and Christine Granger. He looked around, he saw Hedwig’s cage between his feet, Crookshanks still asleep, and so was Hermione. Not even the fast jerk that brought him out of sleep had disturbed her, she even still held onto Harry’s hand as if it was the most previous thing in the world to her.

“Hey,” Peter called from the front, “you okay, Harry?”

“I’m alright,” Harry replied instantly trying to cover up the fear that was gripping him.

“Looks like you were having a hell of a nightmare,” Peter observed.

“Not sure what it was,” Harry answered back.

“Well, here we are,” Peter said as the car came to a full stop.

Harry looked out the side windows to see a modest two-story country cottage. It was the kind of place that didn’t look like it needed improvement and it didn’t seem to be too extravagant. The property itself seemed like a forest, one that was so dense that Harry looked out the other windows to see that the road was surrounded by them. The only clear area that he could see was the road behind the Granger’s car.

“Nice place, isn’t it?” Peter asked with a certain amount of pride in his voice.

Harry couldn’t help but agree, “I think it’s brilliant.”

“And this is just the outside,” Peter added.

Harry suddenly felt Hermione stir from her sleep along with her cat Crookshanks. Her arms moved from Harry’s lap to wrapping themselves around his neck. The touch of Hermione’s skin against Harry’s made him shiver beneath his clothes. It wasn’t a shiver of cold or fear; it was a strongly erotic kind that rippled all through his body. Never before had he experienced this level of awakening since that night that Hermione first kissed him.

“Wake up, Hermione dear,” Christine called very sweetly from the front seat.

Hermione hugged herself closer to Harry’s chest which sent Chrookshanks down to the car floor.

“Just a few more minutes, mum,” Hermione asked half-asleep.

Harry then brought his hand up to Hermione’s face, the warmth of his palm intensifying against the heat of her cheek.

“We’re home, Hermione,” Harry whispered to her.

She slowly came awake and looked at the house beyond the car window.

“Home sweet home,” she smiled.

Later that night, as Harry was lying in bed in the guest room, he thought back over the last few hours that he had spent with Peter and Christine Granger. For a while he thought that Ron’s family was quite something, but the Granger’s had thrown out all expectations when he was given a tour of their country cottage.

The place was a two-story home; the first floor had all the expected amenities, such as a good sized kitchen, dinning room, and family room with a great brick fire place. Then there was the library which was probably the largest room on the first floor, shelves upon shelves of books, it was as much as Harry had expected as far as what he saw of Hermione at school, but what threw him off were some of the titles. Originally, he thought that most of them would have been the dry reading material that she would use for “light reading”. Yet, the books in the library were fiction, classics, and hard to find bestsellers, and there were even a few books of erotic fiction that when Harry looked at them, Hermione blushed just a little.

Dinner at the Granger’s was special since it was essentially their first night at the cottage. To celebrate their stay, they had the most delicious Sheppard’s Pie that Harry had ever tasted. Conversation that night was filled with stories from Hogwarts, and from Hermione’s childhood, but she tried to steer them back to Hogwarts since she would turn bright red when her mother would talk about it. Needless to say, they were very open-minded people, a very refreshing experience to Harry living with the Dursley’s who thought Dudley would become the king of the world and lived in constant paranoia of what the neighbors would think.

As they spoke, Harry started to have a nagging question. It was about the upstairs bathroom. It was as large as a bedroom; there was a large sink basin enough for three people to stand at side by side. The floor was tile with a small drain in the center of it all. Then there was the tub, it was something that Made Harry scratch his head at. The thing was as large as a bed, almost as if it was designed for more than one person to lie in, very comfortable at that. So, eh had to ask the question at dinner, but Peter had beaten him to it.

“Is something on your mind, Harry?” Peter asked sounding a little concerned.

Harry hesitated for a moment, because he wasn’t sure himself of how to word the question. Sitting there with Hermione and her parents, he felt a true comfort of being with them. So much that he could ask anything that was on his mind.

“It’s about the bath,” Harry began, “it’s a little larger than the one’s I’ve normally seen.”

“Oh that,” Peter sat back with a little laughter in his tone as if he had some great relief to Harry’s question, “the tubs that big for all of us.”

“All of us?” Harry asked feeling a little more confused than before.

“Yes,” Christine answered, “Peter and me love to take baths together. Even when little Hermione came along, the three of us would bathe together until Hermione was seven.”

“Mum…” Hermione whispered, her face turning bright red underneath the brown bushy hair she had.

“Looks like Harry will have to bathe with Hermione now,” Peter laughed.

Harry could feel himself begin to blush a little as he looked across the table to Hermione imagining them bathing together. The prospect of being so close to Hermione did feel quite attractive to Harry, in fact, he wished that he and Hermione were in the bath so he could feel her skin against his. Yet, he tried to hide that thought from his face at the dinner table.

Lying in bed later that night and rethinking about a bath and Hermione, he could feel his own skin growing warmer. He welcomed the arousing warmth in his skin as well as the growing surge of energy in his own masculinity. He had bouts of sleepless nights like this since he could feel his own awakening of his sexual appetites.

He did remember the day it happened; it was the summer after the third year (the year of Sirius Black) that during his time at the Dursley’s he found a small pile of magazines near the door of Dudley’s room. He looked through them finding great pictures of half-nude and fully nude women. After seeing them, he couldn’t get the beautifully arousing images out of his head. That whole day he had to hide the embarrassment of his erection from the Dursley’s, especially Dudley. Despite that horrid day, that night he had discovered a great method of pleasure on his own.

Harry could feel the urge to bring back the great pleasure grow as he thought about Hermione…nude…in a bathtub…skin against skin…warm…and wet. He couldn’t take anymore, he pushed the bed sheets away and began to take off his pajama bottoms, but as he did, there was a gentle tap at his door. Panicked, Harry quickly pulled up his pajama bottoms and pulled the sheets up to his chest. He tried to calm himself down just a tad as he looked to the door and called out:

“Yes?”

The door opened and the most pleasant surprise walked in. It was Hermione, she looked absolutely stunning, even though she was only wearing a large baggy shirt that covered most of her body while its hem stopped at mid-thigh. She too looked happy that she had come to the guest room that Harry was in. He had to snap himself back to reality from the daze that he was in from Hermione’s beauty. He shook his head violently and smiled sheepishly at Hermione.

“What is it, love?” Harry asked sounding concerned.

Hermione closed the door behind her quietly, and then turned back to Harry. Stepping through the dim light of the guest room to the bed, she gave her reason.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she told as she reached the bed, sat down, and allowed her hand to travel up the comforter to Harry’s face, “I wanted to know if…if…”

Harry sat up and took Hermione’s hand into his.

“What is it, Hermione?” Harry asked wondering what was troubling her.

“Do you like my parents?” She asked, her face turned downward to the floor.

“I think they’re brilliant,” Harry smiled.

“Really?” Hermione asked her face lighting up with all the hope that she had.

“Really,” Harry answered, “And I’m glad I’ll be spending the summer here.”

Hermione smiled, “I hope that you never have to go back to the Dursley’s again.”

“Me too,” Harry said thinking that it would no longer be summers of being the dirty secret that had to be hidden. Thinking about it, he nearly forgot about Hermione sitting next to him.

“Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Yes?” Harry asked back

“May…” Hermione hesitated for a moment, “May I sleep here with you?”

Harry’s heart nearly skipped a beat, but remembering back to that Christmas at Hogwarts, he remembered how it felt so right. There was nothing in the world that could tell him any different about it. He sat up a little more, took the sheets, and flipped them open like holding open a door for his lady. He looked to Hermione and said:

“Get in.”

Hermione didn’t need any encouragement; she climbed into the bed with Harry and snuggled up next to him. Wrapping his arms around her, Harry could feel such a great peace over him. In a life, like Harry’s that was fraught with tragedies, being near to Hermione felt so wonderful that he could think only one thought.

“This…will be a great summer.”

Harry had wished that night would have been filled with great sleep since he had the girl that he loved lying in his arms and that he didn’t have to endure the Dursley’s that summer. Unfortunately, sleep wasn’t as restful as he had hoped for he had that dream again, but this time it was sharper and more vivid.

He could feel himself coming to the top of the stairs of that old cottage and looking through the narrow crack into the room beyond. He looked and saw that the fire was alight and blazing sending out its colors of red, yellow, and orange into the room. He could hear the voices again from the room and he listened intently.

“There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hunry.”

“Later,” said a second voice. This too belonged to a man but it was strangely high-pitched and as cold as a sudden blast of wind. Something about that voice made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up on end, “Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail.”

Wormtail. That was when Harry made the startling realization of where he was and who the men were. Wormtail had to be the man that was once known at Peter Pettigrew, a former friend of Harry’s father that turned traitor when he sold them out to Voldemort. Thinking about that made Harry’s blood boil with anger, but as he listened again, he could hear that the men were making plans.

“My Lord,” Pettigrew asked, “May I ask how long we are going to stay here?”

“A week,” the cold voice of Voldemort asked, “Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.”

The World Cup? Harry thought about it and wondered what they were planning to do with the events drawing closer.

“The…the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?” Pettigrew asked, “Forgive me…but I do not understand why we should wait until the World Cup is over.”

“Because fool,” Voldemort wheezed, “at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.”

Harry could feel himself grow more excited thinking that he was gaining an advantage for seeing and hearing all this before the enemy could make their move on their plans.

“It could be done without Harry Potter, my Lord.” Pettigrew stated nervously.

What could be done without me? Harry thought

“Without Harry Potter?” breathed Voldemort softly, “I see…”

“My lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!” Pettigrew said his voice squeaking like a caught rat, “The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard…any wizard…the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you would allow me to leave you for a short while…you know that I could disguise myself most effectively…I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person….”

“I could use another wizard,” Voldemort answered, “that is true….”

“My Lord, it makes sense,” Pettigrew said sounding relieved, “Laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is too well protected…”

“And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder….perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?”

“My lord!” Pettigrew said sounding shocked and scarred, “I…I have no wish to leave you…none at all…”

“Do not lie to me!” Voldemort hissed but still sounding weak, “I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me….”

“No! My devotion to your Lorship…”

“Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?”

“But my lord…”

“Silence Wormtail…” Voldemort hissed like a snake, “We have a visitor.”

The door flung open and there was that flash of green light once again.

Harry’s eyes shot wide open, he was breathing hard as though he had been running the mile. Waking up from the horrible nightmare again, his hand instinctively came up to his forehead where he could feel his lightning bolt-shapped scar begin to pulse with pain as if it were the oncoming of a headache. Along with the pulsing pain, he could feel it burning beneath his fingers as though someone had pressed a white hot poker to his skin.

Sitting up, Harry saw that he was alone in his bed. Remembering the night before and how the lovely girl Hermione came to his room and to his bed, he started to wonder where she was. Even though Harry had made it on his own for a long time, it was one time that he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to know more than anything what was going on. Why was he having that dream? Why was his scar hurting like that? And where was Hermione?

The last question that he had was answered right away as the door to his room had opened and in walked Hermione who was already dressed and had a towel at her head slowly drying her hair.

“Ah,” She smiled, “You’re awake, love. I didn’t want to wake you because you seemed so peaceful.”

Harry was relieved to see Hermione again, but at the same time he couldn’t help but come back to the feeling that the dream was giving to him. Even though as he was sitting up awake, he couldn’t remember all the details about what happened in that room. He remembered Peter Pettigrew talking to Voldemort, but all of their plans didn’t seem to come back to memory clearly. It was as if that green light had wiped away all the details that he could remember about seeing those two. All he knew of their plans was that those two were planning to kill someone…him.

“What’s wrong, love?” Hermione asked as she sat down on the bed next to Harry.

Harry wanted to keep it a secret, but it was hard to keep secrets from Hermione, because she already knew that something was wrong.

“You had a bad dream didn’t you?” She asked

Harry looked up at her surprised.

“You’re sweating, Harry.” She explained as she reached out to touch Harry’s forehead. Her fingers felt cool against his burning flesh. She brought her hand back out to the front of his face knowing about his bad eyesight and showed the droplets of sweat that came from his brow. “What happened, Harry?”

“I…” Harry tried to bring out the words about what he saw, but the harder he tried to recall the memories of the dream, the more the details slipped. “I can’t remember…all I know is that when I woke up, my scar started hurting.” Hermione didn’t miss a beat when she resumed her old Hogwarts habits, “Better send an owl to Dumbledore and tell him about this.”

Normally, Harry would have brushed Hermione’s suggestions off, like how she always tells him and Ron to study more for upcoming exams. Yet, in the short time that they had been together, she had become a stronger voice of reason for him. Before, Harry had a chance to agree with Hermione, she stood up and smiled:

“But right now, let’s have breakfast.” She said so vibrantly.

Her exuberance was something that Harry had never seen before in Hermione, maybe it was because they were away from Hogwarts or maybe it was because they were a couple. Either way, Harry seemed to like this side of Hermione a little more than that bossy know-it-all that she was at school. Thinking of that, Harry started to notice what Hermione was wearing that morning, she wasn’t wearing anything baggy that day, it was a pair of jean shorts that looked like they had their legs cut off so that they would be like hot pants. To top it off she was wearing a red tank-top that did very little to hide her very elegant and beautiful skin. Harry couldn’t help but find himself staring at her.

“See something you like love?” Hermione asked as she leaned forward so far that Harry could have a good glimpse down her tank top. There he saw that she wasn’t wearing a bra at all, seeing that he could feel a new kind of burning in his body, this kind didn’t come from his scar, this one seemed to rise from within his skin and even rose from his pelvis.

“Um…” Harry could only make utterances to Hermione’s question.

Hermione stood back up crossing her arms and gave Harry a slightly pouting expression, “You don’t like it?”

Harry finally could utter words again, “Like what?”

“What I’m wearing…” Hermione pouted.

“No!” Harry immediately answered, “I like it…but…it’s…a little…”

“Exposing?” Hermione smiled

Harry shook his head, “It’s…it’s not like you to wear these kinds of clothes.”

“Well, I have to remain somewhat respectful when I’m at school and around others,” Hermione shrugged, “But when I’m with you…that’s different.”

“Different?” Harry asked.

“With you, I feel I can show parts of myself that I wasn’t allowed to show at school.”

ON a certain level Harry felt privileged that he could have and see Hermione in such a way. He smiled as he threw back the sheets of his bed, but as he did he noticed that Hermione’s eyes went wide at him. Just as he was about to ask, he looked down at himself and found out why her eyes were looking at him that way. A euphemism for what happened was that it seemed like someone was pitching a tent inside his pajama bottoms. Harry was about to cover himself up but then he found that Hermione was smiling and even laughing.

“What’s funny?” Harry asked sounding almost annoyed at her.

“You’re just so cute they’re you’re embarrassed.” Hermione laughed but then leaned down to kiss Harry on his lips, “Get dressed, or breakfast will get cold.”

After that, Hermione had left and went back downstairs, perhaps to meet back with her parents to eat breakfast. Harry had then begun to dress himself with the image of Hermione in that red tank top bending so far forward that he could see down into it. His heart was racing at the very thought of it, but then an odd notion came to mind. Since he and Hermione were a couple, shouldn’t they have…have…Harry had a hard time even thinking about the word in his own mind. Then again, he knew what it was and how it was done from those magazines that Dudley had hidden in his room, but he started to wonder how it was that anyone got that started.

He was already fully dressed as that thought had come to him and he headed downstairs for breakfast.

To be continued…

Author’s Notes: A lot of people have been asking me to make a sequel to my Fullmetal Alchemst/Harry Potter fusion story (Fullmetal Alchemist and the Crimson Stone). So, I thought that I would give it a try, but because of how I had structured the first story, I thought that I would need a “bridge fic”. In Fullmetal Alchemist and the Crimson Stone, in order to bring in Edward Elric into the Fourth Year of Harry Potter, I had to push a lot of the events in “Goblet of Fire” out of it so it would seem like a normal year to Harry and his friends but would be a new experience for Edward Elric. Thus the reason why I created this story, “Harry Potter and the Summer of Love”, not only to act as the bridge between “The Crimson Stone” and my upcoming sequel fic, but also to explore the relationship between Harry and Hermione. Of course, there were some fans who had cursed me out for pairing the two of them together, but I say Hell with them. After all, it can’t be any further out of the realm of possibilities than all these yaoi (Male/male) pairings that fans come up with.

Moving along, this is only the first stepping stone of the sequel to Fullmetal Alchemist and the Crimson Stone. I hope that my readers will enjoy it.

Bye for now

- Tattoo Alchemist