Disclaimer: I know very well that I am too naughty for Santa to deliver Percy this Christmas...
It was, all in all, one of the most complicated projects that she'd ever undertaken.
Ron and Harry didn't quite understand her dedication to it, the former calling it a boring waste of time and the latter dismissing it as a necessary evil. But then again, neither of them had ever taken a Muggle Studies course.
But she had, once upon a time. Third year, and it had been someone else who had always accosted her in the hallways, asking in that polite, formal way of his, if she found her several electives interesting. He hadn't been able to take Muggle Studies; it would have interfered with Ancient Runes, and he hadn't been as lucky as her in some ways.
But his face had been the only one that had become alert with interest when she broached the subject of her project.
"A book on the ordinary life of Muggles versus wizards, most up-to-date version?" Ron had screwed up his face expressively, and Harry had merely raised his eyebrows. But Percy, the prodigal son, had perked up at that. "That would be fascinating. I hear that the book used in Hogwarts is ten years old."
The general idea had been a good one, but the undertaking of it-- there was so much to decide in terms of organization, things to include, and ways of explaining things such as electric blankets and computers and central heating that might make sense to someone who'd never experienced it before.
It had been Arthur Weasley who had come up with the brilliant idea for the research of the book. Over garlic baked potatoes and jerk Cornish hen, the patriarch of the family that had taken her under their wing had beamed at her and suggested that she take a wizard with her through Muggle life, and find out through their novel experience the best way to write her Magnum Opus.
Percy had volunteered on the spot.
That had been three months ago, and the research wasn't nearly done. Percy had been game-- she supposed that a few years being the butt of the twins' jokes would give anyone the fortitude of a knight, and he had tried everything from the coffeemaker to the washing machine with a sort of enthusiastic, academic interest. There had been a few awkward moments, to be sure-- he'd been so utterly confused by the intricacies of a credit card machine at Harrod's that the clerk had alerted security, and Hermione had decided quite later that it was to his credit that he hadn't charmed the handcuffs open and necessitated a call to the Obliviators. He had joked with her afterwards that he was far more comfortable with the other type of money that came in heavy coins and colourful sheets of parchment, and that the prison was somewhat reminiscent of a certain section of the Slytherin dungeons, sans cranky suits of armour. Hermione had laughed then, and he had pouted exaggeratedly about his now-tarnished record with the law.
His criminality and the inconveniences that came from it notwithstanding, Hermione was quite forgiving. He hadn't really done anything wrong, aside from the pouting. But thankfully for her, she was able to quickly shove away the thought that, for all his otherwise stern features, Percy's lips were full and soft-looking, pale pink and almost sensuous when he smiled.
Right now, though, he was blushing too hard for her to focus upon his lips. In a fastidiously confused sort of motion that she'd come to associate with him, he pulled at the tight, stone-washed jeans that she'd made him put on, as if trying to stretch the fabric into the baggy, conservative cut of robes. "Are you sure this is necessary, Hermione?"
"Quite," she grinned, her eyes focused upon his face. "You look smashing in them, Perce. Now... the shirt, if you please?"
"It's... shiny."
"Yes, yes," she nodded. "But it's what the Muggles wear to clubs, and I'd think that you would prefer wearing that shirt to no shirt at all."
The flush spread from his high cheekbones to encompass all of his bare chest, and he grabbed the shirt off the chair. She grinned, and then, all of the sudden, there was a crackle of something indefinable and she found herself staring at his skin, which took on a a darker, more elusive, cool tone as the power went out.
He stepped closer, involuntarily, at the sudden darkness, and when he spoke, his voice was a bit husky. "Hermione?" he asked. "What happened to the electericity?"
She knew, of course, what the matter was. But he'd never been through one before. "It's called a power outage," she said instructively. "Sometimes the electricity doesn't work... perhaps there's a wire down, or they're doing some sort of maintenance at the power company." The room was dark, the curtains shut on the window. Her wand was in the other room.
"I think the flashlight's still in your room," she said softly, reaching her hands out to feel out for closets and drawers. "I remember showing it to you here..."
Perhaps he'd had a similar idea, for he also moved from his spot in front of the dresser, and muttered something about his wand being somewhere on his nightstand... and all of the sudden, as he turned left and she turned right, like in an awkward first dance, they collided, and her bare arms braced against smooth, warm skin.
She felt her face flaming... much like his had when he'd seen the short skirt that she was wearing. She also wore a filmy long-sleeved shirt over a tank top, and through the thin fabric, she could feel his hands on her waist, steadying her.
Which was why it made no sense that she felt a bit dizzy. Gingerly, her hands slid up his chest. The smooth pectorals quivered slightly under her touch.
"Isn't electericity dangerous? Downed power lines... and so on?" his voice sounded close by her ear, and she gulped when she gazed up to see his face, dark eyes gazing fixedly into hers, his breath ruffling her hair.
"Yes, deadly..." she found herself saying breathlessly. The sudden darkness made her other senses particularly acute, and she noticed that he smelled like mint and soap, and her spine tingled at the light brush of his fingers through her hair. She leaned forward to hear what he had to say... in anticipation.
"I don't want to die a virgin, though."
At first, she was too surprised to speak, and a moment later, she couldn't speak because he had sealed his lips over hers, and power outages and book plans be damned. Hermione moaned as his tongue traced the inside of her mouth, and leaned in closer to him.
The Muggle jeans that he'd been so fastidious about soon crumpled to the floor, along with her skirt and top, and they tumbled down onto the bed, and she found herself pinning him underneath her, bold like she'd never been before, her fingers skimming everywhere even as they continued to kiss, his glasses knocked askew in the darkness.
He must have been a quick study, because he seemed to know just where to touch and what to do and say, and much later, as she lay on his bare chest, her bushy hair spread across his skin like a blanket, she wondered what all this would mean... and not just for their project.
Why was he so eager to do it, anyway?
She fell asleep still in his arms, and awoke the next morning to the brightness of electric lamps that had come back on. He was still asleep, auburn eyelashes resting on slightly freckled cheeks. His glasses were nowhere to be seen-- likely tumbled off sometime during the night.
But she did notice something that she hadn't seen last night in the darkness.
Under the glow of lamps, he was smiling in blissful contentment, and his fingers were warm and rosy upon the small of her back.
His wand was indeed on the nightstand, and she picked it up. Muttering a quick spell, she extinguished the lights and pulled the covers back up over them.
This was quite nice, and she wanted to sleep some more.
Besides, both of them did deserve a break from their research.