Disclaimer: I'm so poor I couldn't buy myself stick of gum. If I did own this, do you honestly think I wouldn't be able to afford at least a jumbo pack of Winterfresh? Come on, people!

A/N: TGIF, people. I had extended periods of history and geometry due to debates, which I got to see NONE of, and totally missed the supposedly hot guy from another school. And I got to see a picture of a lung with emphysema…Joy. Welcome to my day. Anyway, here's the next chapter. I'm loving the way this fic is going, so yeah. More updates for you- Yay.

Chapter Four: Sexy Virgins

Harry was beginning to think that Hermione had forgotten about their little arrangement, meaning he really did sound like an idiot on that message recording. Sighing through his teeth, he called Madame Rosmerta over for the tenth time that evening.

"Another butterbeer for ya, Harry?"

"Nah, I think I'll take something a little stronger this time. A bit of firewhiskey, please."

The aged witch nodded, and disappeared for a moment, taking Harry's tenth empty butterbeer bottle with her. Well, he knew one thing for sure, there were two possible out comes of this little endeavor, either Hermione showed up and he had to pee, or Hermione didn't show up, and, well, he still had to pee.

Rosmerta set a tall glass of smoking red firewhiskey in front of him, and leaned against the nearby bar. "Who're ya waitin' on?

"Oh, just Hermione. She was supposed to be here at five."

"It's half past six. Are you sure she's coming? That girl's never been know to be late."

"Actually I'm really not quite sure. I kind of sprung this on her last minute."

"How last minute?"

"I…I um…left a message on her machine at around four forty five…"

Madame Rosmerta made a tutting noise, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth while wiping down a barstool with a rag. "It's never good to do that to a girl! You men think we take too long getting ready as it is…" Rosmerta seemed to forget she was directing her comments towards Harry, and went into a full-on rant aimed at the spot on the counter that just wouldn't disappear.

Harry picked up his drink, stared at it for a moment before tilting it back. A flash of hot flavor rushed over his taste buds. It was an acquired thing, a tolerance for the once fire-hot drink that he'd eventually grown after drinking it increasingly, causing it to only seem endurably zesty.

That moment of firewhiskey musings was ruined by a loud bang produced from the wooden door. A figure stood there, her hair flying wildly in the cold winter winds, baggy sweatpants tied around her small waist.

"Potter!" Hermione growled out, in a voice so filled with disgust that Malfoy would have been proud of. "You little conniving bastard!"

Behind the counter, Rosmerta jumped and nearly dropped a goblet of gillywater she'd been carrying to a customer. The other patrons immediately focused their attention on the two of them.

He raised his eyebrows and quickly swallowed his mouthful before his mouth could open wide into the smirk Harry had been holding in since last night. He took in the rest of her appearance, some sunglasses, a pair of purple earplugs, and a tight shirt that proclaimed 'Reading is Sexy' that she might as well as gotten out of a hooker's closet.

Wasn't that a bit of an oxymoron, to have a virgin exhibiting characteristics similar to that of a hooker? 'Well…who's to say she is a virgin?' Stated a tiny voice in the back of his head. 'It's not like she'd tell you those kinds of things…That's why she's got Mandy.' A small wave of…was that anger? Well, whatever it was, it crashed into him like a tidal wave, overtaking his thoughts. What reason had he to be angry, anyway? It wasn't any of his business in the first place.

Shaking the thoughts away and pushing the emotions down, Harry made his comment. "Been out saving drowning puppies? That would explain the earplugs, but what about the rest? Have you ditched Madame Malkin and started taking fashion advice from a concubine?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Actually, of all the things to say, that would have to be the absolute worst.

"Kiss my ass, you man-whore."

Harry, who had taken another large gulp of his firewhiskey, began to sputter. This, of course, was also the wrong thing to do, seeing as sputtering is hard to do with a mouthful of burning hot liquid. That burning hot liquid has to go somewhere, when you refuse to open your mouth and your constricting throat won't let it pass through. This place being, of course, the nose.

Red firewhiskey flew out of Harry's at great speed, burning the inner passage way of his nostrils. His eyes watered, and he coughed heavily. Had she just cursed at him? It took quite a lot to get Hermione's mouth to spout swear words, which pretty much meant he was in deep, smelly, steaming shite.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, being funny? Well, I can tell you, this isn't going to be a bloody walk in the park for you, this dinner- I'm going to make it hell for you."

"But-" Harry tried to interject.

"I'm not done yet, Potter. Do know how much of a bloody day I've had? It sucked. I threw up in my hair. And haven't even washed it out yet! I smell like frigging puke, damn it!"

Harry had backed up until his chair was all the way against the wall. He couldn't look away from her face, no matter how terrified of the crazy-eyed woman in front of him he was- like a disaster you can't help but watch, even though you know it's going to be gruesome. To be completely honest with himself, he found her wild ringlets and the healthy flush in her cheeks well, bluntly put, hot. Well, those and the fact that she was getting closer and closer and the hooker-shirt was becoming more and more visible. 'NO! Bad thoughts...Snape in a dress…'

"Do you know what it feels like, you little miscreant, to have the bleedin' knight bus ram into your head? NO? Well I do! And I expect a little sympathy from the sons-of-bitches I call friends. I've been through hell today. You are such an asshole! No, better yet, you're a fu-"

"Miss Granger!" At this point, Harry had started to claw at the wall, and Hermione had at some point pulled her arm back, and formed a fist with her hand. All this was stopped with the commanding tone of a single voice both parties recognized.

Hermione's face drained of all color. It was an interesting thing to watch, his best friend going from a shade of purple reminiscent of his Uncle Vernon on a bad day to the sickly white similar to the color of paste, with a tad bit of green tossed in. "P-p-professor!" She squeaked, stumbling over the single word.

"…completely inappropriate! There are students all around, Miss Granger, did you not take notice, or did you find them an unimportant part of your day?" Professor Minerva McGonagall towered over Hermione at an impressive height, her face, though wrinkled, was still as ever stern and tight. Her eyes held a certain amount of anger and disappointment behind her usual square spectacles.

She was right. There were students milling about the pub, it was a Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts, apparently. Harry himself hadn't noticed though, so he could hardly blame a fuming Hermione.

"I'm so sorry, Professor, I-I was just so angry and you know how I get when I'm passionate about a subject…I'm completely and only involved in that subject…You remember how I was during school, always researching this and studying that…" She managed to pull of a school-girl look, fiddling with her shirt and squirming.

McGonagall's lips pursed into an even smaller line, if that was possible and she nodded her head, though it seemed to take much difficulty for the movement to occur. "Well. Next time might you consider checking to see if little ears are present?"

"Oh, of course!" That seemed to appease the professor, who left in a flourish of emerald green robes.

"Well…That was interesting…"

"Gee Harry, with my whole speech and all you'd think you might get the idea that I could have used some help!"

Oh. So that's what was up with all the freaky hand gestures and the constant eye-contact. She'd been looking at him so much he'd begun to think he had a boogie. Well, there was that and he'd been staring at her quivering lips throughout most of the apology.

"Sorry 'bout that, really I am. C'mon, I'm forever begging for your mercy, oh-so-brilliant-one." Harry said this, settling on his knees and grabbing her hand as if to grovel. Hermione simply rolled her eyes in reply. He placed a quick peck to each of her fingers, to which she responded by shivering out of either disgust or pleasure, he wasn't sure. Either way, it had worked because her face curled up into a sweet smile.

"Truce?"

"Fine. But only because I can't stand to see the Boy-Who-Lived become the Boy-Who-Begs-at-My-Feet."

"Yeah…I suppose that wouldn't be too pleasant once your socks come off. I'm not much of a foot-man, myself."

She laughed heartily at that. "Are you implying my feet stink?"

"Well, if the shoe fits…"

"What size shoe?"

"Nine."

"Oh, well, then it doesn't. I'm a size seven and a half."

"Good to know for future shoe-shopping references. Not that I'd buy women's shoes."

"Not even for me?" Hermione pouted, her brown eyes shining.

Oh Merlin, not the pout, he could never really turn down Hermione's pouts. Usually, the situation ended in him succumbing to whatever it was she'd wanted him to do in the first place, usually something unpleasant like last time, when she forced him to set up a pet-play date between Hedwig and Crookshanks. Goodness knows how that turned out- poor Hedwig was still trying to grow back her tail feathers.

Hermione settled into a chair, and Harry followed. They began chatting, catching up like they'd both promised. It wasn't long before Harry lost control of his mouth. He'd meant to keep it shut, after that last fiasco about her chosen style of dress, but this just couldn't go untouched.

Harry locked his green eyes with her brown ones. "Okay, now we've got a truce, I need to ask you something." She raised an eyebrow and nodded her consent, settling into the chair he'd been saving for her. Taking a deep breath, he finally asked the one question he'd been dying to ask her all evening. "Did you know you're not wearing any shoes?"

"I…what?" Hermione looked down to the ground, where her feet were beneath the table. There were no shoes there, nothing but a pair of blue socks with images of monkeys printed on them. She blushed instantaneously, her cheeks a bright crimson. "Oh, I kicked my sandals into my room. Must have forgotten."

Harry laughed, and dropped a few sickles onto the table, paying the bill without question. He stood, and Hermione followed his example, not quite sure as to where they were going. "C'mon Cinderella, we'll get you some shoes at Madame Malkin's." He took another look at her while throwing his arm over her shoulder and leading her in the direction of the door. "Better yet, how about an entire outfit?"

A/N: Hm…Could have been better, I think. It felt like a filler chapter. Well, I know what I think, and you know what I think, so let's finish the puzzle and you can let me know what you think. By reviewing, please. Anyway, that's all for now, folks. If I'm struck by another idea for a chapter, it'll be up. If not, well, then…you get the picture.

Reviews: Okay, so normally I do direct responses, but again, I've grown lazy. So, to any and all reviewers: YOU ROCK! Oh, and for those who did mention Mrs. Granger….I'd have to say I agree. She's my best OC, and by far the funniest. I appreciate all those who took/take time to read and review my story, so here are my thanks: THANKS! Oh, and hugs too ;-).