It was close to midnight when Harry Potter burst unexpectedly through the door of the flat he shared with Hermione Granger. Ron had lived there too until about a month ago when he moved in with his girlfriend Luna. Harry was soaking wet and shivering uncontrollably because of the storm that was fiercely raging outside. His khaki trousers were dripping on the hardwood floors. His boots pounded on the solid oak boards, as he took off his long coat and flung it on the golden rack to the left of the small flat's doorway. Harry was trying to be quiet so he didn't wake Hermione. Harry sneezed and thudded into the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinets for a tissue.
In the next room, Hermione was lying awake in bed, listening intently to the hammering rain and howling wind that Harry, had just been braving outside. While fighting Death Eaters alongside Ron, Harry, and other members of Dumbledore's Army, Hermione managed to stay quite calm, but thunder and lightning scared her to death. Suddenly she sat bolt upright in bed, hearing a noise coming from the kitchen. Her first thought was that Ron was in the fridge again, but in hearing his loud snoring down the hall, creeping out of his open door, Hermione began to panic. Even though Ron was currently living with Luna, he had kept his room at Hermione and Harry's completely in tact, sleeping here whenever they had a row or he had too many beers at the pub around the corner. Tonight was a pub night.
Throwing off the blankets that had formed her fluffy cocoon, Hermione let out a high-pitched squeal. She blindly groped in the dark for some sort of protection, completely forgetting in her state of paranoia that she was a witch after all, and could have very well used her wand to hex whoever had dared entrance into her flat at such a time. Tossing away spell books, fuzzy socks, and several bottles of body lotion, her hands rested upon one of her many copies of Hogwarts, A History. Instead of paralyzing the intruder, Hermione had settled for bonking them on the head. She crept silently down the hallway, holding her breath. As the brave and frightened witch reached the wall nearest to the kitchen, she flattened herself up against it and took a deep breath, raising the bat above her head.
"Ahhhhhhh!" she screamed, leaping around the corner into the room where Harry stood, blowing his nose. Harry simply looked at Hermione, dressed in a big gray sweatshirt and black running shorts, with one eyebrow raised, until she started coming towards him shouting, "Go away!"
"Hermione stop! Hermione it's me!" Harry raised his hands to cover his face from her bashing as he came up beside her; however, Hermione's aimless flailing soon stopped on its own as she tripped over their crimson sofa, stubbing one of her bare toes, and fell on top of it in a sitting position. Somehow, Hermione even managed to fall perfectly. She opened her eyes and pursed her lips, letting the book fall to the floor. Harry coughed loudly and suddenly feeling light-headed, sat down next to Hermione, who was staring blankly ahead, now fully ignoring his presence.
"Blimey Harry. Don't do that, you scared me half to death. I figured you would be home by now." She turned to look at him and in doing so her angered face instantly softened. She reached out to touch one of Harry's sodden forearms. "You're all wet, and freezing! Come into the kitchen and I'll make you some tea."
"Hermione you don't-," Harry started, pretending he didn't want her tea and company, but was gladly interrupted.
"And I'll get you a blanket. Go!" Hermione commanded as if Harry had never protested, instantly taking control of the situation like she always did. Harry obeyed. He could tell when Hermione started talking the way Mrs. Weasley used to after seeing Harry for the first time since his brief holidays at the Dursleys every summer, that she was not to be argued with. Besides, Harry actually did want some nice hot tea; maybe it would soothe his aching throat. He just didn't want to put Hermione out of her way. It was midnight after all.
Harry sat at the kitchen table and put his head, suddenly throbbing, into his hands. He had been fighting what seemed like a simple cold for about a week, and working late hadn't helped it. Not to mention the fact that by the time Harry managed to get out of the office at night, or usually the wee hours of the morning, walking was his only method of getting home, since he wasn't allowed to Apparate inside his Muggle building, and it had been cold and rainy for what seemed like eternity. Harry kept telling himself he was fine, but was suddenly overcome with a feeling of nausea that put that thought far from his mind. It didn't feel like just a cold anymore, but Harry didn't want anyone to worry or fuss over him. He was fine. Harry Potter was always fine, or at least that's what he told himself.