A/N: YAY!!! You guys liked it! Well, here's the next part. A few of
your questions will be answered here and more in the next few chapters. If
you want to read more, remember to review, so I know! THANKS A TON!!!!!
Disclaimer: Not mine!
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Hermione woke up the next morning with a horrible headache, and she immediately remembered the dozen shots she'd downed with Harry and Ron the night before. Remembering the shot-fest brought back the memories of the night she'd spent with Ron afterwards. She rolled over and found him lying beside her fast asleep.
And she wasn't surprised at all.
She knew that waking up in Ron's bed had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she'd gotten herself so drunk she could barely stand. She would have gone to bed with him without a drop of liquor in her, and she knew it.
They'd been playing this game for three years now. The whole "best friends with benefits" thing. It had all started the year after they'd graduated from Hogwarts. The two of them and Harry had gone to America to study at one of the Auror Academies there for nine months. After a night of partying, Harry had disappeared, and Ron had suddenly come up with the brilliant idea that he and Hermione should have a one-night stand. Hermione, who was quite drunk at the time, decided that for once in his life, Ron had been struck with a sensible idea and had agreed.
That had been the night that had changed everything.
It was immediately clear that the one-night stand idea was headed straight out the window. Neither of them were virgins, but neither of them had ever experienced the passion and near chemical combustion that their first shared sexual experience entailed. They'd been best friends for years, and perhaps it was this fact that made them so wonderfully suited as lovers or maybe it was just years of pent-up lust for the other that made that first time so incredible. Whatever it was, it definitely made them both rethink the one-night stand thing.
The amazing sex didn't make them fall in love with each other, though, as might have happened in a Muggle romance novel. They were quite content being friends and only friends. After all, they'd tried to date each other during their sixth year and had both ended up miserable with the situation; dating your best friend is simply not something healthy, and Hermione immediately learned that she should have trusted the millions of Muggle psychologists who point this out at every given chance. They'd broken up and decided that they were much better together as friends than as partners.
But there is a difference between partners and lovers.
They were perfect lovers for each other; it just took them a couple of years to figure that out.
However, once they'd realized this, they were very much eager to get as much use out of this information as possible. They worked out a no-strings- attached sort of agreement and went on with their lives. They dated other people; they even slept with other people. But they were always there for the other whenever needed, and they ended up in bed together at least once a week.
But as the years went on, Hermione started wondering what in the hell ever possessed her to take Ron up on his offer in the first place. She was quite sure that if she'd just told Ron to shove off that fateful night that her life would be absent of at least one confusion. She was sick of playing the game; it was getting old. But she couldn't get past the fact that she needed to be with Ron, the fact that she was now quite dependent on him. And this retched need was one confusion she could definitely have done without.
It wasn't as if she hadn't had enough bewilderments to last her a lifetime. At twenty-one, she'd probably been through more than most people go through in their entire life. She'd been faced with shock after shock when she was younger, and she'd somehow managed to come out alright. She'd learned she was a witch after spending ten years believing that witches and wizards only existed in fairy-tales. She'd learned that the boy who would be her best friend had somehow caused the Darkest Wizard of all time to fall when he was merely a baby, and she'd learned soon after that that the same best friend was still wanted dead by a large proportion of the wizarding community. When she was fifteen, she'd suddenly become an orphan, returning home on her Christmas break to find not one but both of her parents dead- killed by the same people who wanted to murder Harry. She'd found out a few months later that they wanted her dead, too. And when she was merely seventeen, she, Ron, and Harry had nearly lost their lives in a fight against Voldemort himself.
But they'd won.
They'd beaten him, and they had lived.
But beating Voldemort came with a dreadful price. Their innocence was stolen in the blink of an eye, the wave of a wand, the muttering of two words that would haunt them forever.
"Avada Kedavra."
And Voldemort wasn't the only one they focused the words on. Dozens of Death Eaters had died that same night by the same three pairs of hands that would destroy their leader. Whether you wanted to get technical and call it self-defense was beside the point. They'd said the words, they'd waved the wands, and they had killed the Dark Lord himself and a good number of his followers.
And killing someone, several someones, does something to a person.
For Hermione, it had turned her into an overly-independent young woman who had no qualms with literally shooting death glares at anyone who even dared to cross her path inappropriately. The attacks had left her rather void of emotions, and she really didn't care what people thought about her anymore. She no longer bothered looking out for those less-fortunate than her, and the one thing she learned during her years at Hogwarts that she considered useful was the fact that the only people who mattered were her friends. She was quite bitchy to the press, and people were always intimidated by her rather cold-hearted reputation.
Ron had turned into the most cynical of human beings imaginable. He, like Hermione, wasted no energy on trying to be nice to hassling reporters or anxious onlookers who goggled at him. He was bitter, and the only time he even showed the faintest shadow of the funny, witty teenager he'd been was when he was with the two people who knew him best during those teenage years. Harry and Hermione were the only people, save his parents (his siblings could all go to hell), that he cared or even bothered to speak to anymore. His sarcasm was at an all-time high, however; only now the sarcasm was most always mean-natured and never playful.
Harry, who had undoubtedly dealt with the most in his lifetime, looked at the defeat of Voldemort differently than his two best friends. While Ron and Hermione both viewed the battle as a way to show the world that they were forces not to be reckoned with, Harry simply chose to ignore the fact that it ever happened. Well, of course, he couldn't really ignore the fact that it had happened, but he made a definite effort to never really speak about it. He, for some reason, thought that if he completely changed himself that he wouldn't have to live in the shadow of the baby that had been responsible for Voldemort's first downfall. The once shy and rather sensitive Harry, was now the wildest and wittiest of the trio. He was somewhat of a playboy, never spending too much time with one girl but never lacking in that area in the least bit.
The battle had changed something else besides their personalities, too. After defeating Voldemort, the entire wizarding world suddenly knew all three of their names instead of just Harry's, and the best friends were left with more options than they could take. The best sounding was, by far, the offer to study at the Los Angeles Auror Academy straight out of Hogwarts. While Hermione, herself, had never really thought about becoming an Auror, she decided that taking them up on the offer would definitely be a way of keeping the solid front she was showing to the world. Harry and Ron, who had both wanted to be Aurors since sometime during their fourth year, jumped at the chance, too, and they all headed for America. After the training, job offers after job offers came pounding their way, and they soon shot to being three of the highest-paid and highest-ranking Aurors in Europe, leaving them with more power and more money than any of them knew what to do with.
Hermione was jerked out of her silent reverie by the feeling of a pair of eyes stuck to her intently. She turned her head slightly, wincing in the pain that even the slightest movement caused, and saw Ron, now fully awake, staring at her very closely.
She smiled at him, always having been a sucker for the tousled and sleepy look on Ron. "Morning."
Ron grinned back at her and leaned over to gently kiss her temple, obviously anticipating the pain in her head. When he pulled away, though, instead of a morning greeting, she got, "I wonder if Harry's awake yet."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I love how you wake up naked next to me and the first thing you think of is Harry."
Ron laughed at this and quickly pressed his lips against hers before continuing. "Well, I told him I would call. And I want to find out how Mandy was." He said this with a wicked grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "And thinking about other girls, too!"
Ron scooted closer to her and placed a hand on the dip of her waist. "How do you think it's possible for me to think about any other woman after the night we just shared?" he asked huskily.
Hermione, in an attempt for revenge, closed one eye and pretended to think very hard. "I really don't remember what you're talking about."
Ron raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head in amusement. "Oh, you don't, do you?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, it must not have been that spectacular if I can't even recall the details. I was pretty drunk, remember?"
Ron laughed. "Yeah, I definitely remember. And I also know that you definitely remember last night."
"No," she said rather dismissively. "Not really."
Ron eyed her for a moment before scooting even closer to her and saying, "Well, I could probably spark your memory with a little reenactment if you want..."
He pressed his lips to the crook of her neck and gently nibbled on a bit of the skin there while he let one hand slide up her back as he rolled on top of her, pinning her body underneath his own. She allowed him to nuzzle her neck for several more minutes, knowing full-well that his actions were turning him as much, probably more, than they were her. With a half-wicked grin, Hermione suddenly pushed him off of her and reached around him to retrieve the cellular phone resting on his beside. She held it out to him with a slight smirk and said, "Call Harry."
Ron looked at her as though she'd gone mad. "Are you shitting me?"
Hermione widened her eyes into an innocent impression. "What's the matter? You said you wanted to call him."
Ron stared at her in horrified shock for a moment longer before glaring slightly at her and yanking the phone from her hand. Pushing the first speed-dial button, he held the phone to his hand and waited for Harry's voice.
"What's up?"
Ron shot a final glare at Hermione and turned away from her. "Where are you at?"
"At my apartment."
"Is Mandy there?"
A slight groan was heard from the other end of the line. "Yeah," he finally said. "She's in the shower."
Ron laughed. "What was the groan for?"
"Because she's still here!"
"That's a bad thing?"
"Man, she drools!"
Ron laughed again. "It was that bad?"
"Yes! Every time I went to kiss her, she made this sound like some dying cat gurgling saltwater down in her throat. And she drools!"
"But she was hot."
"Yeah, she's hot. But that's about it."
Ron rolled his eyes, quite amused at the fact that Harry had spent the night with a drooling dying cat saltwater gurgler. "Well, is she leaving anytime soon?"
"Hell, yes, she's leaving soon." Harry groaned again. "I'm gonna make up some work emergency. I tried to get her to leave last night, but she fell asleep and drooled all over my pillow."
"Well, are you coming over here when she's gone?"
It was their day off, so Harry answered with an obvious, "Well, of course." After a second's pause, he said, "Is Hermione there?"
Ron rolled back over and glanced at his bedmate who was looking at him with slightly raised eyebrows. "Yeah. She's being a bitch." Hermione rolled her eyes.
Harry snickered and gave a very sarcastic reply of, "Oh, there's a surprise."
"Tell me about it."
"Well, mate," Harry said finally. "I better get off, so I can get Mandy out."
"Tell him to bring breakfast!" Hermione piped up suddenly.
Ron rolled his eyes and said, "Miss Bitch wants you to bring breakfast."
"Alright," Harry said dismissively. "I'll be over in a few."
"Okay."
They both hung up the phone, and Ron set his back on the table.
"Miss Bitch?" Hermione asked incredulously.
Ron turned over and smirked. "Yes, that's what I said. I wasn't aware that I'd developed a stuttering problem."
Hermione's narrowed eyes went back to normal as she shrugged carelessly. "Well, if I'm such a bitch, I'm sure you don't want me doing this."
And with that, she'd pushed him onto his back and straddled him, the covers falling away from her still-naked body as she leaned down and kissed him forcibly. She dug her short nails into the skin of his upper-arms as her lips attacked his, and then just as suddenly as she'd begun, she rolled off of him and stood up.
"I'm getting in the shower."
Ron recovered from the kiss and looked at her in unflattering disbelief. "Please tell me you're kidding."
Hermione just flashed him a brilliant smile and said, "What? Harry will be here soon."
"Hermione, you cannot do this to me!" Ron said seriously. He sat up and stared at her expectantly.
"Oh, you'll be okay, Ron," she said airily with another quick grin. And with that, she exited his bedroom through the door connecting to his bathroom.
Ron stared after her, not quite believing that she was drawing pleasure from torturing him.
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An hour later, Hermione was sitting in Ron's living room dressed in a terrycloth robe with a towel on her still-wet hair filing her nails. She looked up when Ron entered the room, his own hair still wet from his shower. He sent her a cool glare and said, "Is Harry here yet?"
Hermione shook her head, looking back down at her nails. "No, and I'm going to kick his ass if he doesn't get here soon because I'm starving!"
Almost as if on cue, a small popping sound was heard, and Harry Apparated right into the living room. Hermione glared at him. "It's about time," she said sarcastically.
Harry's only reply was a question. "Are you naked under that robe, Hermione?"
The young witch ignored him and grabbed the bag he was clutching away from him and started rummaging through the various food he'd brought until she spotted a fruit cup. She picked it and a plastic spoon out of the bag and tossed the remaining food at Ron.
"Well, you're in a right cheery mood this morning, aren't you, Sweetheart?" Harry asked sardonically.
"I would be in a better mood," she countered evenly, "if I didn't have to wait for a fucking hour on breakfast."
"Well, excuse me," Harry said briskly, "for having to deal with Mandy the Droolest."
Ron laughed, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. "She drooled on you?"
"Yes," Harry said haughtily. "So, forgive me, please."
Ron laughed again, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, you probably deserved it with that horrible pickup line."
"Oh, please!" Harry said quickly. "Your pickup lines on my behalf were far worse!"
"This is very true," Ron agreed. The men had a ten year old habit of ganging up on her.
"Tell me, Ron," Harry said smoothly. "Does Hermione ever drool on you?"
Ignoring Hermione's sound of disgust, Ron said, "No, she doesn't drool, but she does do a lot of other things."
Harry smirked. "Like what?"
Casting a long gaze at Hermione, Ron shrugged and said, "Oh, I'm not one to kiss and tell."
At this, Harry snorted with disbelief. "Right."
"I'm not!" Ron protested.
Harry stared silently at his best friend for a long moment before nodding slowly and turning to Hermione. "Hey, 'Mione. Can I see that birthmark of the half-moon on your lower-back?"
Hermione stared wide-eyed at Harry before turning a very cool and expectant glare at Ron who was suddenly blushing furiously.
Harry didn't stop there, though. He continued with, "Or maybe those three freckles that form a triangle on your..." He was cut off by Ron's hacking cough.
Hermione's eyes widened to the size of galleons before she let out a stutter of disbelief and glared dangerously at Ron. Finally, she looked directly at Harry and said, "No, Harry I'm afraid you can't see those freckles. But don't feel too left out because I know someone else in this room who won't be seeing them anytime soon, either." Then she got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice.
As soon as the door was shut, Ron picked a bagel out of the paper bag and aimed it very accurately at Harry's head. "You dickhead!!!"
Harry laughed. "Hey, I was only stating a fact."
Before Ron could threaten Harry with any bodily injury, though, another popping sound was heard, and Mrs. Molly Weasley appeared in the living room.
Ron jumped up immediately and glanced around nervously. "Uh, hi, Mum," he said uneasily, not having expected a visit from his mother.
Mrs. Weasley gave him a small smile and said, "Hello, Ron."
"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said from his place on the couch.
He was met with a warm smile and a, "Hello, Harry dear. How are you?"
"Good, thanks." Harry returned the smile, very aware that Mrs. Weasley favored him almost to the point of putting him above her biological children.
At that moment, though, the door connecting the kitchen and the living room opened, and Hermione entered. She stopped, though, when she noticed the early visitor. Forcing a smile, she said, "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."
The older woman forced her own sarcastic smile and said, "Hermione." Then she eyed her for a moment before adding, "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in some real clothes, Dear," with fake sweetness.
Hermione glanced down at the robe and forced herself to keep her composure. Nodding curtly, she flashed her own fake grin and said, "Of course," before heading for the stairs with a very sharp and meaningful look at Ron.
She trudged up the stairs of Ron's London loft and flung open the door to his room with an angry force. Shutting it very hard behind her, she turned to the mirror and mimicked Mrs. Weasley.
"Perhaps you would be more comfortable in some real clothes, Dear. Perhaps if you weren't so cold towards people, you would have a better public image, Dear. Perhaps if you didn't spend so much time in my son's bed, you could do something to improve yourself, Dear. Perhaps you could make your mother prouder by waiting until you were in a committed relationship to go falling into people's beds instead of trouncing around like some common whore, Dear."
She groaned loudly, and the mirror replied with a very sarcastic, "Something the matter, Dear?"
Hermione glared at it. "That woman can just go fuck herself!"
The relationship between Ron's mother and his part-time lover was strained to say the very least. At one time, Mrs. Weasley and Hermione had gotten on quite well, but when Mrs. Weasley had shown up unexpectedly one morning and found her son in a very compromising position with his best female friend, the friendliness of the relationship had vanished instantly. Mrs. Weasley didn't really seem to blame Ron as much, though Hermione was quite sure that he got his fair share of, "Really, Ron. How can you even be interested in that little hussy?" But in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, it was Hermione who held most of the blame. After all, she surely must have seduced the woman's youngest son and innocent baby, right?
Hermione pulled out one of the three drawers she kept at Ron's house and yanked out a white sundress furiously before slinging the towel from her hair and shaking out her still damp curls. Then, with just as much fury, she pulled the robe off and yanked on some undergarments and the dress. Slipping her feet into a pair of white slip-ons, she glared once more at the mirror before trudging back down the stairs angrily.
When she got to the entrance of the living room, she saw Mrs. Weasley holding up the current issue of the Daily Prophet and saying, "Really, Ron! What kind of a statement is that? You've been spending too much time with that foul girl!"
Hermione held her head high and walked into the living room classily. Ron looked up at her panicked, but she ignored him. Mrs. Weasley, wearing a sarcastic smile, said, "White is such a lovely color on you, Hermione. Pity it's not practical."
Hermione forced herself not to reach for her wand and hex the older witch, so she simply said, "Yes, pity," with an air of dismissal. "Is that today's paper?"
"Yes."
"May I see it?" Hermione asked politely, and Mrs. Weasley handed her the paper with a smug look on her face.
Hermione laughed out loud at the main headline. "Weasley Denies Comment Again." The article went on to call Ron a "clinically depressed individual, not able to deal with the horrors of his past calmly."
"What is so funny?" Mrs. Weasley inquired sharply.
"Well, it's just that these people will print anything!" She laughed again. "If they knew anything at all, they would know that when Ron says, 'Fuck you,' it really means, 'Have a nice day.'"
Mrs. Weasley gasped, and Ron sent Hermione the most pleading of looks. She had expected as much. Ron wouldn't dare say anything against his mother, and neither would Harry. Hermione stared blankly at him before saying, "Really, Ron. Why didn't you just tell them to kiss your goddamn ass, too? Then they really could have had a field day."
Another shock of gasp was heard from the direction of Mrs. Weasley, and Ron dropped his head into his hands. The older witch stood up quickly and said, "Well, I can't stand this horrid language, so I'm leaving. Ron, I expect you by on Sunday to help your father."
Ron looked up from his hands long enough to give a weak, "Yes, Mum."
She nodded. "Right then. Good-bye, Harry." And with that, Mrs. Weasley Disapparated into thin air.
There was a moment of silence before Harry finally said, "Well, that was a friendly little visit, wasn't it?"
Hermione ignored him and glared at Ron. "I can't believe you can be that much of a pansy-ass!"
Ron looked up at her exasperated. "Hermione, she's my mother!"
"I know she's your fucking mother!" Hermione shot back angrily.
"Can't you please try and get along with her?" Ron asked desperately.
Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "I've been trying for four goddamn years! I'm not going to stand around and let her talk shit about me anymore!"
"I'm not asking you to," Ron said urgently. He shook his head and said, "But she's my mother! What do you want me to do?"
Hermione sat silently for a moment before saying quite evenly, "Cut the apron strings a little and then ask me that question." She stood up and headed for the door, slamming it behind her as she left Ron's apartment.
Ron had jumped up to stop her, but he didn't get the chance. He stood staring silently at the door she'd just left through for a long moment before turning to Harry, who was looking quite uncomfortable with a silent request for an opinion.
Harry shrugged. Then he gave him a sympathetic smile and said, "Don't worry about it. Hermione'll calm down. She always does."
Ron wasn't so sure.
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Hermione woke up the next morning with a horrible headache, and she immediately remembered the dozen shots she'd downed with Harry and Ron the night before. Remembering the shot-fest brought back the memories of the night she'd spent with Ron afterwards. She rolled over and found him lying beside her fast asleep.
And she wasn't surprised at all.
She knew that waking up in Ron's bed had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she'd gotten herself so drunk she could barely stand. She would have gone to bed with him without a drop of liquor in her, and she knew it.
They'd been playing this game for three years now. The whole "best friends with benefits" thing. It had all started the year after they'd graduated from Hogwarts. The two of them and Harry had gone to America to study at one of the Auror Academies there for nine months. After a night of partying, Harry had disappeared, and Ron had suddenly come up with the brilliant idea that he and Hermione should have a one-night stand. Hermione, who was quite drunk at the time, decided that for once in his life, Ron had been struck with a sensible idea and had agreed.
That had been the night that had changed everything.
It was immediately clear that the one-night stand idea was headed straight out the window. Neither of them were virgins, but neither of them had ever experienced the passion and near chemical combustion that their first shared sexual experience entailed. They'd been best friends for years, and perhaps it was this fact that made them so wonderfully suited as lovers or maybe it was just years of pent-up lust for the other that made that first time so incredible. Whatever it was, it definitely made them both rethink the one-night stand thing.
The amazing sex didn't make them fall in love with each other, though, as might have happened in a Muggle romance novel. They were quite content being friends and only friends. After all, they'd tried to date each other during their sixth year and had both ended up miserable with the situation; dating your best friend is simply not something healthy, and Hermione immediately learned that she should have trusted the millions of Muggle psychologists who point this out at every given chance. They'd broken up and decided that they were much better together as friends than as partners.
But there is a difference between partners and lovers.
They were perfect lovers for each other; it just took them a couple of years to figure that out.
However, once they'd realized this, they were very much eager to get as much use out of this information as possible. They worked out a no-strings- attached sort of agreement and went on with their lives. They dated other people; they even slept with other people. But they were always there for the other whenever needed, and they ended up in bed together at least once a week.
But as the years went on, Hermione started wondering what in the hell ever possessed her to take Ron up on his offer in the first place. She was quite sure that if she'd just told Ron to shove off that fateful night that her life would be absent of at least one confusion. She was sick of playing the game; it was getting old. But she couldn't get past the fact that she needed to be with Ron, the fact that she was now quite dependent on him. And this retched need was one confusion she could definitely have done without.
It wasn't as if she hadn't had enough bewilderments to last her a lifetime. At twenty-one, she'd probably been through more than most people go through in their entire life. She'd been faced with shock after shock when she was younger, and she'd somehow managed to come out alright. She'd learned she was a witch after spending ten years believing that witches and wizards only existed in fairy-tales. She'd learned that the boy who would be her best friend had somehow caused the Darkest Wizard of all time to fall when he was merely a baby, and she'd learned soon after that that the same best friend was still wanted dead by a large proportion of the wizarding community. When she was fifteen, she'd suddenly become an orphan, returning home on her Christmas break to find not one but both of her parents dead- killed by the same people who wanted to murder Harry. She'd found out a few months later that they wanted her dead, too. And when she was merely seventeen, she, Ron, and Harry had nearly lost their lives in a fight against Voldemort himself.
But they'd won.
They'd beaten him, and they had lived.
But beating Voldemort came with a dreadful price. Their innocence was stolen in the blink of an eye, the wave of a wand, the muttering of two words that would haunt them forever.
"Avada Kedavra."
And Voldemort wasn't the only one they focused the words on. Dozens of Death Eaters had died that same night by the same three pairs of hands that would destroy their leader. Whether you wanted to get technical and call it self-defense was beside the point. They'd said the words, they'd waved the wands, and they had killed the Dark Lord himself and a good number of his followers.
And killing someone, several someones, does something to a person.
For Hermione, it had turned her into an overly-independent young woman who had no qualms with literally shooting death glares at anyone who even dared to cross her path inappropriately. The attacks had left her rather void of emotions, and she really didn't care what people thought about her anymore. She no longer bothered looking out for those less-fortunate than her, and the one thing she learned during her years at Hogwarts that she considered useful was the fact that the only people who mattered were her friends. She was quite bitchy to the press, and people were always intimidated by her rather cold-hearted reputation.
Ron had turned into the most cynical of human beings imaginable. He, like Hermione, wasted no energy on trying to be nice to hassling reporters or anxious onlookers who goggled at him. He was bitter, and the only time he even showed the faintest shadow of the funny, witty teenager he'd been was when he was with the two people who knew him best during those teenage years. Harry and Hermione were the only people, save his parents (his siblings could all go to hell), that he cared or even bothered to speak to anymore. His sarcasm was at an all-time high, however; only now the sarcasm was most always mean-natured and never playful.
Harry, who had undoubtedly dealt with the most in his lifetime, looked at the defeat of Voldemort differently than his two best friends. While Ron and Hermione both viewed the battle as a way to show the world that they were forces not to be reckoned with, Harry simply chose to ignore the fact that it ever happened. Well, of course, he couldn't really ignore the fact that it had happened, but he made a definite effort to never really speak about it. He, for some reason, thought that if he completely changed himself that he wouldn't have to live in the shadow of the baby that had been responsible for Voldemort's first downfall. The once shy and rather sensitive Harry, was now the wildest and wittiest of the trio. He was somewhat of a playboy, never spending too much time with one girl but never lacking in that area in the least bit.
The battle had changed something else besides their personalities, too. After defeating Voldemort, the entire wizarding world suddenly knew all three of their names instead of just Harry's, and the best friends were left with more options than they could take. The best sounding was, by far, the offer to study at the Los Angeles Auror Academy straight out of Hogwarts. While Hermione, herself, had never really thought about becoming an Auror, she decided that taking them up on the offer would definitely be a way of keeping the solid front she was showing to the world. Harry and Ron, who had both wanted to be Aurors since sometime during their fourth year, jumped at the chance, too, and they all headed for America. After the training, job offers after job offers came pounding their way, and they soon shot to being three of the highest-paid and highest-ranking Aurors in Europe, leaving them with more power and more money than any of them knew what to do with.
Hermione was jerked out of her silent reverie by the feeling of a pair of eyes stuck to her intently. She turned her head slightly, wincing in the pain that even the slightest movement caused, and saw Ron, now fully awake, staring at her very closely.
She smiled at him, always having been a sucker for the tousled and sleepy look on Ron. "Morning."
Ron grinned back at her and leaned over to gently kiss her temple, obviously anticipating the pain in her head. When he pulled away, though, instead of a morning greeting, she got, "I wonder if Harry's awake yet."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I love how you wake up naked next to me and the first thing you think of is Harry."
Ron laughed at this and quickly pressed his lips against hers before continuing. "Well, I told him I would call. And I want to find out how Mandy was." He said this with a wicked grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "And thinking about other girls, too!"
Ron scooted closer to her and placed a hand on the dip of her waist. "How do you think it's possible for me to think about any other woman after the night we just shared?" he asked huskily.
Hermione, in an attempt for revenge, closed one eye and pretended to think very hard. "I really don't remember what you're talking about."
Ron raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head in amusement. "Oh, you don't, do you?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, it must not have been that spectacular if I can't even recall the details. I was pretty drunk, remember?"
Ron laughed. "Yeah, I definitely remember. And I also know that you definitely remember last night."
"No," she said rather dismissively. "Not really."
Ron eyed her for a moment before scooting even closer to her and saying, "Well, I could probably spark your memory with a little reenactment if you want..."
He pressed his lips to the crook of her neck and gently nibbled on a bit of the skin there while he let one hand slide up her back as he rolled on top of her, pinning her body underneath his own. She allowed him to nuzzle her neck for several more minutes, knowing full-well that his actions were turning him as much, probably more, than they were her. With a half-wicked grin, Hermione suddenly pushed him off of her and reached around him to retrieve the cellular phone resting on his beside. She held it out to him with a slight smirk and said, "Call Harry."
Ron looked at her as though she'd gone mad. "Are you shitting me?"
Hermione widened her eyes into an innocent impression. "What's the matter? You said you wanted to call him."
Ron stared at her in horrified shock for a moment longer before glaring slightly at her and yanking the phone from her hand. Pushing the first speed-dial button, he held the phone to his hand and waited for Harry's voice.
"What's up?"
Ron shot a final glare at Hermione and turned away from her. "Where are you at?"
"At my apartment."
"Is Mandy there?"
A slight groan was heard from the other end of the line. "Yeah," he finally said. "She's in the shower."
Ron laughed. "What was the groan for?"
"Because she's still here!"
"That's a bad thing?"
"Man, she drools!"
Ron laughed again. "It was that bad?"
"Yes! Every time I went to kiss her, she made this sound like some dying cat gurgling saltwater down in her throat. And she drools!"
"But she was hot."
"Yeah, she's hot. But that's about it."
Ron rolled his eyes, quite amused at the fact that Harry had spent the night with a drooling dying cat saltwater gurgler. "Well, is she leaving anytime soon?"
"Hell, yes, she's leaving soon." Harry groaned again. "I'm gonna make up some work emergency. I tried to get her to leave last night, but she fell asleep and drooled all over my pillow."
"Well, are you coming over here when she's gone?"
It was their day off, so Harry answered with an obvious, "Well, of course." After a second's pause, he said, "Is Hermione there?"
Ron rolled back over and glanced at his bedmate who was looking at him with slightly raised eyebrows. "Yeah. She's being a bitch." Hermione rolled her eyes.
Harry snickered and gave a very sarcastic reply of, "Oh, there's a surprise."
"Tell me about it."
"Well, mate," Harry said finally. "I better get off, so I can get Mandy out."
"Tell him to bring breakfast!" Hermione piped up suddenly.
Ron rolled his eyes and said, "Miss Bitch wants you to bring breakfast."
"Alright," Harry said dismissively. "I'll be over in a few."
"Okay."
They both hung up the phone, and Ron set his back on the table.
"Miss Bitch?" Hermione asked incredulously.
Ron turned over and smirked. "Yes, that's what I said. I wasn't aware that I'd developed a stuttering problem."
Hermione's narrowed eyes went back to normal as she shrugged carelessly. "Well, if I'm such a bitch, I'm sure you don't want me doing this."
And with that, she'd pushed him onto his back and straddled him, the covers falling away from her still-naked body as she leaned down and kissed him forcibly. She dug her short nails into the skin of his upper-arms as her lips attacked his, and then just as suddenly as she'd begun, she rolled off of him and stood up.
"I'm getting in the shower."
Ron recovered from the kiss and looked at her in unflattering disbelief. "Please tell me you're kidding."
Hermione just flashed him a brilliant smile and said, "What? Harry will be here soon."
"Hermione, you cannot do this to me!" Ron said seriously. He sat up and stared at her expectantly.
"Oh, you'll be okay, Ron," she said airily with another quick grin. And with that, she exited his bedroom through the door connecting to his bathroom.
Ron stared after her, not quite believing that she was drawing pleasure from torturing him.
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An hour later, Hermione was sitting in Ron's living room dressed in a terrycloth robe with a towel on her still-wet hair filing her nails. She looked up when Ron entered the room, his own hair still wet from his shower. He sent her a cool glare and said, "Is Harry here yet?"
Hermione shook her head, looking back down at her nails. "No, and I'm going to kick his ass if he doesn't get here soon because I'm starving!"
Almost as if on cue, a small popping sound was heard, and Harry Apparated right into the living room. Hermione glared at him. "It's about time," she said sarcastically.
Harry's only reply was a question. "Are you naked under that robe, Hermione?"
The young witch ignored him and grabbed the bag he was clutching away from him and started rummaging through the various food he'd brought until she spotted a fruit cup. She picked it and a plastic spoon out of the bag and tossed the remaining food at Ron.
"Well, you're in a right cheery mood this morning, aren't you, Sweetheart?" Harry asked sardonically.
"I would be in a better mood," she countered evenly, "if I didn't have to wait for a fucking hour on breakfast."
"Well, excuse me," Harry said briskly, "for having to deal with Mandy the Droolest."
Ron laughed, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. "She drooled on you?"
"Yes," Harry said haughtily. "So, forgive me, please."
Ron laughed again, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, you probably deserved it with that horrible pickup line."
"Oh, please!" Harry said quickly. "Your pickup lines on my behalf were far worse!"
"This is very true," Ron agreed. The men had a ten year old habit of ganging up on her.
"Tell me, Ron," Harry said smoothly. "Does Hermione ever drool on you?"
Ignoring Hermione's sound of disgust, Ron said, "No, she doesn't drool, but she does do a lot of other things."
Harry smirked. "Like what?"
Casting a long gaze at Hermione, Ron shrugged and said, "Oh, I'm not one to kiss and tell."
At this, Harry snorted with disbelief. "Right."
"I'm not!" Ron protested.
Harry stared silently at his best friend for a long moment before nodding slowly and turning to Hermione. "Hey, 'Mione. Can I see that birthmark of the half-moon on your lower-back?"
Hermione stared wide-eyed at Harry before turning a very cool and expectant glare at Ron who was suddenly blushing furiously.
Harry didn't stop there, though. He continued with, "Or maybe those three freckles that form a triangle on your..." He was cut off by Ron's hacking cough.
Hermione's eyes widened to the size of galleons before she let out a stutter of disbelief and glared dangerously at Ron. Finally, she looked directly at Harry and said, "No, Harry I'm afraid you can't see those freckles. But don't feel too left out because I know someone else in this room who won't be seeing them anytime soon, either." Then she got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice.
As soon as the door was shut, Ron picked a bagel out of the paper bag and aimed it very accurately at Harry's head. "You dickhead!!!"
Harry laughed. "Hey, I was only stating a fact."
Before Ron could threaten Harry with any bodily injury, though, another popping sound was heard, and Mrs. Molly Weasley appeared in the living room.
Ron jumped up immediately and glanced around nervously. "Uh, hi, Mum," he said uneasily, not having expected a visit from his mother.
Mrs. Weasley gave him a small smile and said, "Hello, Ron."
"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said from his place on the couch.
He was met with a warm smile and a, "Hello, Harry dear. How are you?"
"Good, thanks." Harry returned the smile, very aware that Mrs. Weasley favored him almost to the point of putting him above her biological children.
At that moment, though, the door connecting the kitchen and the living room opened, and Hermione entered. She stopped, though, when she noticed the early visitor. Forcing a smile, she said, "Hello, Mrs. Weasley."
The older woman forced her own sarcastic smile and said, "Hermione." Then she eyed her for a moment before adding, "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in some real clothes, Dear," with fake sweetness.
Hermione glanced down at the robe and forced herself to keep her composure. Nodding curtly, she flashed her own fake grin and said, "Of course," before heading for the stairs with a very sharp and meaningful look at Ron.
She trudged up the stairs of Ron's London loft and flung open the door to his room with an angry force. Shutting it very hard behind her, she turned to the mirror and mimicked Mrs. Weasley.
"Perhaps you would be more comfortable in some real clothes, Dear. Perhaps if you weren't so cold towards people, you would have a better public image, Dear. Perhaps if you didn't spend so much time in my son's bed, you could do something to improve yourself, Dear. Perhaps you could make your mother prouder by waiting until you were in a committed relationship to go falling into people's beds instead of trouncing around like some common whore, Dear."
She groaned loudly, and the mirror replied with a very sarcastic, "Something the matter, Dear?"
Hermione glared at it. "That woman can just go fuck herself!"
The relationship between Ron's mother and his part-time lover was strained to say the very least. At one time, Mrs. Weasley and Hermione had gotten on quite well, but when Mrs. Weasley had shown up unexpectedly one morning and found her son in a very compromising position with his best female friend, the friendliness of the relationship had vanished instantly. Mrs. Weasley didn't really seem to blame Ron as much, though Hermione was quite sure that he got his fair share of, "Really, Ron. How can you even be interested in that little hussy?" But in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, it was Hermione who held most of the blame. After all, she surely must have seduced the woman's youngest son and innocent baby, right?
Hermione pulled out one of the three drawers she kept at Ron's house and yanked out a white sundress furiously before slinging the towel from her hair and shaking out her still damp curls. Then, with just as much fury, she pulled the robe off and yanked on some undergarments and the dress. Slipping her feet into a pair of white slip-ons, she glared once more at the mirror before trudging back down the stairs angrily.
When she got to the entrance of the living room, she saw Mrs. Weasley holding up the current issue of the Daily Prophet and saying, "Really, Ron! What kind of a statement is that? You've been spending too much time with that foul girl!"
Hermione held her head high and walked into the living room classily. Ron looked up at her panicked, but she ignored him. Mrs. Weasley, wearing a sarcastic smile, said, "White is such a lovely color on you, Hermione. Pity it's not practical."
Hermione forced herself not to reach for her wand and hex the older witch, so she simply said, "Yes, pity," with an air of dismissal. "Is that today's paper?"
"Yes."
"May I see it?" Hermione asked politely, and Mrs. Weasley handed her the paper with a smug look on her face.
Hermione laughed out loud at the main headline. "Weasley Denies Comment Again." The article went on to call Ron a "clinically depressed individual, not able to deal with the horrors of his past calmly."
"What is so funny?" Mrs. Weasley inquired sharply.
"Well, it's just that these people will print anything!" She laughed again. "If they knew anything at all, they would know that when Ron says, 'Fuck you,' it really means, 'Have a nice day.'"
Mrs. Weasley gasped, and Ron sent Hermione the most pleading of looks. She had expected as much. Ron wouldn't dare say anything against his mother, and neither would Harry. Hermione stared blankly at him before saying, "Really, Ron. Why didn't you just tell them to kiss your goddamn ass, too? Then they really could have had a field day."
Another shock of gasp was heard from the direction of Mrs. Weasley, and Ron dropped his head into his hands. The older witch stood up quickly and said, "Well, I can't stand this horrid language, so I'm leaving. Ron, I expect you by on Sunday to help your father."
Ron looked up from his hands long enough to give a weak, "Yes, Mum."
She nodded. "Right then. Good-bye, Harry." And with that, Mrs. Weasley Disapparated into thin air.
There was a moment of silence before Harry finally said, "Well, that was a friendly little visit, wasn't it?"
Hermione ignored him and glared at Ron. "I can't believe you can be that much of a pansy-ass!"
Ron looked up at her exasperated. "Hermione, she's my mother!"
"I know she's your fucking mother!" Hermione shot back angrily.
"Can't you please try and get along with her?" Ron asked desperately.
Hermione couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "I've been trying for four goddamn years! I'm not going to stand around and let her talk shit about me anymore!"
"I'm not asking you to," Ron said urgently. He shook his head and said, "But she's my mother! What do you want me to do?"
Hermione sat silently for a moment before saying quite evenly, "Cut the apron strings a little and then ask me that question." She stood up and headed for the door, slamming it behind her as she left Ron's apartment.
Ron had jumped up to stop her, but he didn't get the chance. He stood staring silently at the door she'd just left through for a long moment before turning to Harry, who was looking quite uncomfortable with a silent request for an opinion.
Harry shrugged. Then he gave him a sympathetic smile and said, "Don't worry about it. Hermione'll calm down. She always does."
Ron wasn't so sure.
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