A/N: I'm going away on Friday, so I won't be posting anything before the 14th July. Possibly, even afterwards as I haven't even written the next chapter yet. I'm also sorry because I won't be able to reply to your reviews - those of you who are actually bothering to follow this story ;) So here you go. Next chapter. I personally think it's not my best work, but writers' block has caused me to just write down whatever I thought would fit. ALSSSSSO, I am a female (if you can't tell) so writing this story poses a problem as I am trying to capture the male mind. Please tell me if it's actually realistic, and I actually sound like a man writing it.

Disclaimer: Rupert Grint would be in my bed. He's not. BAHA.

Chapter Three

One thing that has baffled men for centuries – women. Why are they like they are? Why do they have to travel in packs or why can't they go to the toilet by themselves? Why do they swing their hips when they walk? By Merlin, it just makes the mind wander and it just takes a moment. Just a moment to imagine that you are dancing with her - I'm her pole and all she is wearing is her shoes. It's torturing.

I'm still single, if you can't count a little slap and tickle, but I've stopped searching for the perfect woman because I feel I've gotten as close as I'm going to get to that. And I'm also 26, which means my expectations are totally different than what they were when I was younger. Like most men, my standards for the perfect woman changed as I aged. They started off low at around 16-18 when the perfect woman was basically any girl that had a pulse and would agree to have sex with me (and honestly, I think if push came to shove the pulse would have been optional). That was the sheer quantity stage. The stage when I'd do anything for minutes of ecstasy.

Mind you, I'm still the same now. I've found that perfect woman but it doesn't mean I can have her. I have to substitute whilst hat one woman that drives me mad. A woman who can eat. A woman who doesn't poke her food around the plate and hide things under her knife and claim to have a thousand intolerances and allergies. A woman who isn't "off carbs", "not drinking this year" and one who will tuck into that banoffee pie and not feel guilty at all. Every other man on this planet is still searching for a half-Swedish, half-Japanese, permanently 25-year-old, 5ft 8in bisexual gymnast with a medium cup, a penchant for tastefully slutty cocktail dresses and an erotically feisty side that meant arguments about the electric bill always deteriorated into sex or shoving his dick in her mouth rather than slammed doors.

Why can't I have her? Because, basically, I'm not her Tobey Maguire. I'm not that superhero Harry Potter that JK created. I haven't swept her off her feet. The truth is, I don't know how to. I don't know how to steal her heart and capture her soul. She did it to me. How the hell do I return the favour? She has two hearts in her power and, the fact of the matter is, I have none. Nothing to play with. No person to wrap round my finger. Fucking hell.

"Table for four please. Should be under the name Granger?" said Hermione as she stood elegantly in her black stilettos.

Harry stood in owe beside the beautiful woman. He kept his eyes fixated on the waiter. He knew even if he took a sly look at her long tanned legs he wouldn't be able to stop himself ripping off her silk dress and pushing her to the floor.

"Umm..." said the waiter, "I'll just have a look for you."

The male waiter was probably of an age where seeing your mother's cleavage sent those hormones raging; and, due to this, blushed at the woman in front of him. Harry knew that he was trying to impress her in the very same way every single male does to any moderately good-looking female: embarrassing himself with cockiness.

The waiter smiled at her, "Okay," he squeaked. It seemed his balls hadn't dropped either which made Harry smirk.

Hermione elbowed Harry in the ribs, smiling at the poor boy as he spoke, "It's table five. I'll show you the way."

He walked out from behind the desk, tripping in his step. He fell into Hermione, his hand "conveniently" falling on her chest, "Merlin," he blushed, looking down at the floor, "I'm sorry."

She laughed, "It's okay. Now, how about that table."

The boy lingered a moment longer than he should have before re-establishing his footing and making his way to the table. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and brought her closer to him, "Get in there lass."

For the second time in two minutes, she digged him in the ribs and brought his ear to her mouth, "It's driving you crazy. You have competition."

Shivers shot down Harry's spine. She drove him crazy in ways she couldn't even fathom.

"Here you go Miss Granger," the boy spoke as he presented her table, "If you need anything this evening just give me a shout."

Harry looked at the boy, "Don't worry lad – she will. I'll make sure," making the boy blush and scuffle over to the reception desk.

"Teasing isn't nice Potter," she said as she sat down, "Especially when you're the Great..."

"Shut up. You know I hate that," he retorted as he too took his seat opposite her.

"Mmm," she sighed, "You hate fame. You hate attention. Yeah, typical male hating all eyes on him. Particularly all female eyes."

He gaped, "I do hate attention..." he started in protest.

"You don't!" she exclaimed, "And you use it to your advantage every single Saturday night."

"Are you saying I'm gonna use my fame and fortune to wheedle you into my bed tonight?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her suggestion.

She smirked, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together, "I'm saying you'll coax that poor boy into your bed. We all know you have homosexual, paedophilic tendencies and that you can't resist," she added seductively.

He mimicked her movement, and he moved closer to her, "You got me in a nutshell."

She laughed and edged back from the intensity as she grabbed the bottle of wine already on the table, "I know you too well Mr Potter."

"Here," he said as he took the bottle away from her, "I'll do it. Your weak girl muscles can't cope."

She shook her head and snatched the bottle back, "I think you'll find I WILL be able to do it. I'm not a damsel in distress as much as you want me to be."

She struggled to take the top off the top, contorting it in all directions causing Harry to laugh, "But I am your knight in shining armour."

He took the bottle and opened it with one free and easy movement. He looked at Hermione as she sat not looking impressed, "I could have done it, you know. It just would've taken time."

"Hmmm..." he grumbled as he poured the blood red liquid into her glass and then his. Placing the bottle on the table, he spoke again, "Do I not get my reward now?"

She smiled and once again leaned forwards making the moment much more intense, "What did you have in mind?"

He smiled and leaned forwards wiping the drop of wine from the outside of the bottle, "Oh... I don't know. How about a..."

"HARRY! HERMIONE!" shouted a blonde woman from the other side of the restaurant.

"Luna!" Hermione exclaimed as she got up from the table to greet the couple.

Harry got up as well, following Hermione to the pair. He greeted Luna with a kiss on the cheek, "You're looking very lovely tonight dear."

"Ooo Harry," she said jokingly, "Aren't you the devil!"

"Hello Harry," said Neville from behind the blonde, "How you doing mate?"

"Not bad, not bad Neville," he replied.

"Shall we sit?" said Hermione, gesturing them towards the table.

The four of them sat down and Harry poured wine into the other two's glasses. Luna withdrew her glass, "None for me Harry thanks. I'm trying to... umm... cut down."

"Go on Luna," he replied, "It's your favourite!"

"No, no," she said as she shook her head, "I... can't."

"No?" Hermione exclaimed, "Are you?"

Luna blushed, "We're trying."

"Really?" she said excitedly, "But I thought..."

"No. We are now!" Luna replied, "Well I am."

Both women shrieked simultaneously which saw confused looks shot from Harry, "How do they understand each other? They don't even finish sentences and yet they know what each other are saying," he said to Neville.

"It's like they are psychic. They have the sixth sense," Neville replied as he took a gulp from his glass.

Harry cleared his throat, "Ahem. Can you please start being normal so we can order? I'm starving."

Hermione shot a piercing look at Harry, "I'll have the ravioli," she said before turning back to Luna.

The wine had seemed to flow all evening, and by the time it had reached 11 o' clock, Harry, Hermione and Neville were a little bit more than tipsy.

"Betcha can't balance a spoon on your nose," Harry slurred.

"I challenge you!" Neville said back as he held his spoon up in the air. He was almost imitating a Pokémon battle scene.

Hermione giggled and leaned forward to Harry. She blinked slowly – her eyelids skimming over her glazed-over eyes, "You will fail and disappoint me."

He leaned forward to her, their faces only centimetres apart, "I thought I was your knight in shining armour?"

She smiled, "Then maybe you should carry me back to your castle."

"I'm afraid I don't have a noble steed," he whispered back.

"Apparation will be enough," she smiled seductively.

He fished for galleons in his pocket and slammed them on the table. He turned to Neville who had a spoon hanging from his nose who spoke, "HAAAA. I told you I could do it."

"Yeah well," Harry said, "I'm taking Hermione home."

"Shh," Hermione whispered with a finger over her mouth, "It's a secret."

Neville and Harry burst out laughing at her remark. Luna rolled her eyes, "I hate this. I wish I'd drank now. Screw trying to get pregnant."

Neville turned to his wife, "I love you," he slurred.

Luna smiled, "You're so cute when you're drunk."

"Does that mean I can get into your knickers now I've said the right thing?" he slurred.

"Of course," she laughed before standing up. She put her half of the bill on the table.

"I'm going for a shaaaaaaaag!" Neville shouted at the restaurant which made Harry burst out laughing.

"That makes one of us," he replied truthfully.

Hermione smiled, "I'll join Neville and Luna. I like fun."

"I think Harry should get you home," Luna said to her before turning to Harry, "Will you be okay?"

"I'm not a Squib, Luna. I am capable of something," he replied.

The money for the bill had been put on the table and the wine had been drunk, so the four of them left the restaurant. Neville had a sluggish arm over Luna's shoulders; done more for effect of keeping him upright rather than an affectionate gesture. Harry had his arm around Hermione as they sloppily dragged their feet out of the restaurant. They exchanged pleasantries outside the restaurant and quickly Apparated away.

Hermione and Harry arrived outside Harry's house; "Umm..." he said shyly, "Do you want to come in for a shag... I mean a coffee? Coffee not shag. Coffee."

She smiled, "I'd very much like that."

He unlocked the door and opened it for her, "After you," he said.

"Thank..." she thanked, tripping into the house.

Harry's seeker reflexes kicked in – even when completely intoxicated, they were still better than your average wizard when sober. He caught her just before she hit the ground.

"Compromising position," she said their faces inches apart.

"Definitely," he replied, keeping her in the same position.

"So, so compromising..." she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

He edged closer to her – his voice diminishing in volume as the space between them became almost nonexistent, "I have to agree."

She leapt up and kissed him hungrily causing him to fall on the ground, "Let's do it. Let's do IT."

Harry didn't hesitate and started to rip off his shirt, turning his back to her. By the time he had turned around, she had passed out on the floor.

Great, he thought.

A/N: Do you know what's great? Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Do you know what else is great? REVIEWS.