A/N: More Harmony! I love it! This story is, obviously, inspired by the song. I've got everything all lined up, and I know exactly where this story is going. I've been trying to do that, rather than just writing and BS-ing my way through. I feel like this helps to make things more cohesive. But anyway, I digress. Please enjoy my new story, and remember to leave a review!

I didn't mean to do it, but there's no escaping your love.

-Counting Crows, "Accidentally in Love."

Hermione Granger, nearly twenty-nine years old, felt she had a pretty decent life. As Chief Undersecretary to Gilbert Fitzgerald, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she was always privy to the goings on in the world of magical law, and had the slightest bit of sway with government officials. She was not quite where she wanted to be—her aspirations aimed toward Department Head, and taking S.P.E.W. to new heights—but her job was wonderful, even if promotions came slowly. When she'd taken the position, she'd been more than happy to stick her foot into the proverbial door, in the hopes of potentially reaching those aspirations. But she knew she wouldn't have a chance to move up until someone (namely, Mr. Fitzgerald) moved out.

Still, Hermione refused to be deterred. If it took her another ten years, or even another twenty, she would stick it out, until the right opportunity came along. Besides, the pay was excellent, and she had to pay rent. Her flat was a decent two-bedroom, though the second bedroom had been converted into a private library (of course), and the rent was manageable. She absolutely loved it, and was more than happy to put up with a marginally unsatisfactory job in order to keep it.

At the end of another long work week, Hermione sighed as she glanced at the clock. 4:55, it read. Five minutes to go, then she was free for the weekend. Thank Merlin.

"Knock, knock," a familiar voice caught her attention. Looking up, she spotted Sally Nebeker, her secretary, standing in her doorway. Sally had vibrant, red curls, not unlike those of the Weasley clan, a round, freckled face, and a perpetual grin. Today, that grin was tinged with smugness. "Your boyfriend's here to pick you up," she practically sang.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry is not my boyfriend."

"He certainly acts like it."

"No," she drawled with as much patience as she could muster. "He acts like my best friend, which is what he is."

The younger woman raised one dubious eyebrow. "He takes you to lunch every other day, shows up at five every Friday, and every picture of him in whatever crap magazine happens to be stalking him at the time includes you. That looks an awful lot like a relationship to me."

"Well, it's not."

Sally smirked. "Whatever you say. Shall I show him in?"

Hermione glanced in the direction of a flash of movement in the corner of her eye. Through the entirely-made-of-glass walls of her tiny office, she could see Harry already approaching. "I don't think that'll be necessary," she gestured. "Thank you, Sally."

The young secretary left, but not before winking suggestively, which Hermione ignored. Instead, she stood, anticipating Harry's arrival.

"Hey, 'Mione," he greeted with a smile, pulling her in for a hug. "You ready?"

"Just about," she said, turning back to the few remaining files on her desk. She quickly signed her name below Mr. Fitzgerald's and put them in a folder for Sally to pick up and file later, finishing just as the clock chimed the hour. Giving a satisfied smile, she recorded her time, and then faced her best friend. "There! Let's go!"

Nearly six years ago, when Hermione had started working as a secretary in the DMLE, Harry, who was just beginning his own work as a Junior Auror, suggested they meet up on Fridays to unwind. It had started as a quick trip to the pub, but after a certain incident involving firewhiskey (which Hermione tried very hard to forget), they decided to switch to dinner and a movie night. Hermione had a rather impressive collection of DVDs, being a devoted movie-lover, and even before she move to the flat she lived in currently, she'd always had a space to watch movies at her leisure. Thus, every Friday night, the two friends would have dinner, then head to her place to pick a nice film to watch.

Tonight, of course, was no exception. Harry and Hermione strolled along the busy streets of London, eventually settling on a nice Thai place. The cashier—a rather pretty girl with long, dark hair—batted her eyes at Harry as he approached.

"Welcome!" she greeted chirpily. "What can I get you and your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no," Harry immediately corrected, "she's not my girlfriend. I'm totally single," he added with a saucy wink.

The girl smiled widely. "A handsome bloke like you? Who would've guessed?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm just looking for the right person."

Hermione rolled her eyes at their blatant flirting. "Yes, well, I for one would like to still be able to eat tonight, so could you please get on with the ordering?" she teased.

They ordered takeaway pad Thai, Harry receiving a bonus in the form of the cashier's phone number, and they walked the short distance to Hermione's flat.

"Did you see the Prophet today?" Hermione asked as they walked. She kept her eyes focused on her feet, not certain if she wanted to see Harry's face. The Prophet's headline for the day read, Malfoy Heir to Wed Weasley Wild-Child, featuring a picture of the happy couple in formal attire, the silhouette of Malfoy Manor looming behind them. Hermione would never admit it to anyone (except Harry, perhaps), but just the sight of that horrid place gave her chills.

Harry laughed quietly. "Yeah, I saw it. Not very nice of them to call Ginny the 'Wild Child,' was it?"

Now she looked at him. "That's not what I meant, Harry."

He sighed. "You don't need to keep worrying about me, Hermione. I've been over it for a while now."

"It was less than a year ago," she pointed out.

"And we've successfully cleared the air since then. No hard feelings."

She stopped walking, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "You were about to propose, Harry. Surely you didn't just get over that overnight."

"No, of course not," he said calmly. "But it didn't take long for me to see that we wouldn't have lasted, anyway. And Ginny and I have talked about it, several times. It's better this way." He smiled. "And she's happy now. I can't hold that against her."

Hermione eyed him skeptically. "You're not holding her engagement to Malfoy against her?"

"He's a lot less of a prat now," he shrugged. "Still a bit snobbish, but I imagine being married to Ginny will scare that right out of him." Harry snickered suddenly. "Can you just picture Ron's reaction?"

She laughed with him at that. "Merlin, he must have turned beet red!"

"How are things with you two, anyway? I mean, has there been any awkwardness at all?"

Scoffing, Hermione shook her head. "We've been broken up for ages now, and our relationship never went far enough to cause any heartbreak. No, we learned very early on we were better off as friends. And now he's with Luna," she added with a smile, "and she's ridiculously good for him."

"That's true," he agreed. "Keeps things interesting, I'll bet."

Their conversations turned toward more trivial things as they continued walking. Upon reaching her flat, Hermione immediately changed into pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt. Harry, too, had stashed a change of clothes in anticipation of the evening, and sported a pair of shorts and a T-shirt of his own. The friends met in the living room, and Hermione browsed her collection.

"What are you in the mood for?" she asked over her shoulder.

Harry replied, "Something with a lot of action. Today was rather boring, I need some adrenaline."

Hermione snorted. "Harry, you've got adrenaline in spades."

"Not right now, I don't," he retorted.

"And it's not like we ever actually watch the movies we pick, so what difference does it make?"

"Humor me."

Though she shook her head in teasing disapproval, Hermione selected three titles with fairly decent action sequences. "Okay, pick one: Transformers, Fantastic Four, or the third Pirates of the Caribbean?"

"Hmm," Harry mused, then said decisively, "I think Fantastic Four."

Hermione plucked the DVD in question from the shelf and put it into the DVD player. As predicted, she and Harry spent less time watching, and more time talking. Occasionally, Harry would quote the movie in time with the actors, and Hermione would roll her eyes and tell him to "just let them say it." They shifted positions frequently throughout the movie, and by the end, Harry sat in the middle of the sofa, Hermione at the end, her feet propped up in his lap, and her back against the armrest. Harry's feet automatically found her ankles, gently massaging them.

"Merlin, that feels good," she moaned, her eyes falling closed. "Thanks, Harry."

"My pleasure," he said, the smile evident in his voice. "You know, you should stop wearing heels to work if they hurt so much."

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "They're not so bad. I charm them to be more comfortable."

Harry snickered. "You would."

The telltale pop of apparition announced someone's arrival, and both friends glanced in the direction of the sound. Ron stood before them, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he looked at them.

"What the hell did I just walk in on?" he demanded, eyeing them with a combination of embarrassment and disgust.

"Technically, you didn't walk," Harry pointed out.

"And you're not interrupting anything," Hermione replied. "We just finished watching Fantastic Four."

"But he—your feet—and you—you're cuddling!" Ron stuttered, then narrowed his eyes at them. "Are you two together?"

Hermione rolled his eyes, while Harry groaned. "Why does everyone ask us that?"

"Honestly," she grumbled. "First Sally, then that girl at the restaurant, now Ron!"

The redhead in question frowned at them. "So… you're not together?"

"No!" they chorused.

Ron flinched at their volume. "Blimey, no need to shout! I was just asking!"

"Sorry, Ron," Hermione sighed. "We just get that a lot."

"Bloody annoying," Harry muttered under his breath, and Hermione silently agreed.

"Well, you'll tell me if that changes, right?" Ron asked.

"It won't," Hermione insisted, "but in the microscopic chance that it does, yes. We'll tell you."

Ron sighed in relief. "Good. Anyway, I didn't come just to chat. Mum asked me to tell you you're invited to dinner on Sunday. It's not a big gathering, just our family a few of our closest mates. Dean, Seamus, and Neville should be there, too."

Harry smiled, all but forgetting his earlier frustration. "Great! I haven't seen them in ages!"

"So, you'll come?"

"We'll be there," Hermione said with a nod. "At the Burrow, right? What time?"

"Yeah, it's at the Burrow, and dinner starts at five." Ron beamed at his friends. "Mum will be thrilled to have you! I'll go let her know. See you Sunday!" And with that, Ron was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

Hermione let out a frustrated growl, earning a confused look from Harry. "What's with you?"

"It's just…" She trailed off, taking a moment to ensure she was calm, before speaking again. "Is it truly so hard to believe that two people can be such close friends, without any sort of romantic attachment?"

"Apparently, yes."

She sighed. "I just don't understand it. People are so small-minded."

"I'm with you there." Harry was quiet for a moment, then a slow, smug grin spread across his face. "Hey, I've got an idea."

"Uh-oh," Hermione teased.

"Just hear me out," he said, turning to face her. "What if we pretend to date?"

"What?"

Harry grinned. "Don't you see? It's perfect! We pretend we're together for a while, everybody fawns over us, and gets it out of their systems. Then we stage a breakup, everything goes back to normal, and people stop bloody pestering us about it. Because, hey, at least we tried it. And if it didn't work, who are they to judge us for that?"

"No," Hermione refused vehemently. "No, no, and no! That is a terrible idea!"

"Why?" he asked.

"First of all, because it wouldn't work, and second of all, because no!"

"Come on, 'Mione!" he pressed, nudging her left knee a bit. "It's worth a shot."

Hermione took several slow breaths. "Say I did agree to this hair-brained scheme of yours. Exactly how long would we be pretending?"

He looked away for a moment, considering her question. "Maybe… a month or two?"

"Two months?"

"It might not even take that long," he shrugged. "Just enough time for them to get over the novelty."

She sighed again, rubbing her eyes with one hand. "This is a disaster waiting to happen."

"Look," Harry began, "why don't we talk about it more tomorrow? We can sort out some more details, and decide if it's really worth trying." He grinned hopefully. "Sound good?"

Hermione let out a groan. "Fine. We'll talk tomorrow."

His smile widened, and he stood, putting her feet on the sofa, then coming to stand in front of her. "This is going to work," he said. "I know it." With those words, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then turned and disapparated. Hermione smiled at the familiar routine—kissing her head was something he'd done at every goodbye for years now—but couldn't deny her doubts about this "grand plan" of his. This just has "bad idea" written all over it, she mused. But she'd agreed to at least consider it until tomorrow. So she would.

Muttering irritably to herself, Hermione cleaned up the living room, then headed to bed.

A/N: Yes, this is done a lot. Yes, I'm aware that it's clichéd. No, I do not care. I'm having fun. By the way, just to dissuade any potential negative feelings, Ron is decidedly not jealous. He's just being his melodramatic self. I hope you are, too! Please review!