AN/: Thank alix33 for the update. She went through and reviewed every single chapter, which made my day. Thank you, so much. Still can't stop smiling, and it's been hours. I thought about leaving you all on a horrible cliffhanger, but had I, you, my loyal readers, would have been out for blood. You can probably guess where. Do enjoy, and once again, Thank alix33 for pushing me to add another chapter. Have a great time until next update!
Eventually, she does let him go, and it takes Harry no more than a minute or two to stake down the bottom of the plastic before returning. Mrs. Figg invites them inside, but Harry pauses in the garage.
"Um, Mrs. Figg, I'm a little soaked. I appreciate the offer, but I don't want to get your house all wet." He says.
"You have enough trouble with the collapsed bathroom, we'd hate to add more." Hermione says, catching onto Harry's reluctance.
"It would be no trouble." The lady insists, putting a foot in front of a cat to prevent it from walking out.
"Still, it wouldn't be right. Aunt Petunia raised me right, "Harry lies, "and I would never mess up a hosts home by entering like this."
"If you insist, I won't force you." Mrs. Figg says, looking between them. "But do come back another day so I can thank you. You've both been a great help. It was nice to see you Hermione. Do tell your Mother to visit one day."
"I'll do that. It was nice to see you as well." Hermione demurs. Harry takes her hand and gently tugs.
"Safe travels!" Mrs. Figg calls out, waving them away and closing the garage door as they go.
Soaked as they are, and with no crisis, the pair are content to wander slowly back to Privet Drive.
"Harry, look at the slide!" Hermione yelps, pointing at the playground they're passing by. The slide is nothing impressive normally, but with the volume of water coming down it has nearly two inches of water running along it.
"Wow. That looks like it'd be fun." He remarks, making no motion to go over. Hermione grinds to a halt, tugging on their still connected hands.
"Harry," she asks, (He does not like her tone, even if he cannot place it. The tone is of playful admonishment.) "what's stopping us from staying out here for a bit? It's not like we can get wetter." She gestures to her clothes, plastered to her body and hair dripping. Harry flushes and tries not to look but can't get the image out of his head. Hogwarts robes hide a lot. Soaked muggle clothing does not.
"Um…" He stammers, trying to think of a reason. "Don't want to catch a cold?"
She rolls her eyes, "I'll risk it. C'mon." she pulls him into the playground and shoves him toward the slide. "Go try it out."
"Me? This was your idea." He shots back.
"You're the one who chose Gryffindor." She teases. As he climbs the ladder up, he calls back at her,
"You can't tell me the hat didn't try to get you in Ravenclaw!"
"Blue would clash with my hair!" she shouts back.
"That's a bloody lie!" He says, climbing into the stream of water and disappearing in the slide. The metal clanks a few times as he goes through, before dumping him out on the pavement in a large wave.
"Well, Harry? How was it?" She asks.
"That was bloody fantastic. You try!" He says, eyes wide with excitement. He drags her to the ladder, nearly bouncing on his feet.
"You're pretty excited over a little slide." She teases.
"It's not like I've had a chance to do this before." He admits offhandedly.
"Harry," She pauses at the top of the slide deciphering his words, "did the Dursleys' ever let you play here?"
"Well, um, they, there was stuff that had to be done. One time I was supposed to, but Dudley had a runny nose, so." He says.
"Criminal." She scowls, throwing herself into the metal tube. There is a stark difference between being wet and actually sitting in inches of water, and Hermione's first yelp was of shock as the water was cold! As she whipped around the first bend, she let out another cry, this time of joy. So much safer than brooms. The pipe twisted again, and she rocketed out of the end with a large wave, nearly colliding with a waiting Harry.
"Well?" He asks, helping her up.
"You didn't warn me how icy the water is. My bum is still cold!" she accuses, pushing past his objections and apologies and quickly flushing face. As she leads them to the swings, her own face does tinge pink.
"You'll just have to push me to make up for it." She says primly, sitting on one of the swings. She doesn't actually expect him to push her, she's not five, she can do it herself. But, as his hands gently land on her shoulders, she should have expected no less. He's hesitant at first, like he's never done this before, only seen it done from a distance, which she realizes is probably exactly what it is. But as nothing goes wrong, he gains confidence. It isn't long before she blurts out,
"Higher!" her face flushing. It's been nearly a decade since she begged someone to push her higher on the swings. Harry obliges, ignorant to her embarrassment, but perfectly willing to accommodate. She's nearing the peak of the arc she can achieve on a swing set this size, as there isn't a great deal one can do to go farther, given the limits of the line. She braces, and at the next peak leaps off. She neatly flips in the air and rolls on the ground, breathless, but proud she still can do it.
"Hermione! Are you alright!" harry rushes over, checking on her.
"I'm fine. I just jumped off. It's been a while since I tried that trick, and I didn't quite stick the landing." She explains.
"Oh." He says, helping her out of the mud. "Can- can you teach me?"
"Teach you what? The trick? I don't know, it's not something I can explain. It more of a feeling than a series of movements." She says, biting her lip.
"No. I, um- I'veseenpeoplesingonthierownbutIneverlearnedhowandwashopingyoucouldteachme." He mumbles.
"Harry, English please. I don't think that was Parseltongue, but still."
"It's nothing. Do you want me to push you again?" he deflects.
"Harry, just tell me. I promise I won't laugh." Hermione says.
"I've seen people swing before, without someone pushing them. Can you teach me how to do that?" he admits, refusing to look at her.
"Oh, that's it?" Harry cringes. "No, its fine. I wasn't-" she puts a hand on his arm. "I was worried it was something complicated. I can teach you, easy."
She sits him in one swing and takes the one next to it. "So, um, you're going to push yourself back with your feet and then let it go forward, at the apex you pull your legs in and then release it when you're all the way back. Just keep doing that and you'll figure it out."
It does take him a few tries to figure it out, but soon they both are pumping and releasing and being pelted with rain.
"You're doing great Harry!" She calls out, as they slowly sync up their swings. "But don't lean too far this way or you'll get us tangled."
He's careful to stay away and not throw them off. As fun and as novel as swinging is to Harry, he does start to tire of it.
"How do you go about stopping?" He asks.
"Well, you can wait for the swing to slow down, you can normally drag your feet on the dirt, but as this is mud your foot might get stuck."
"What about what you did?" he asks.
"That's the other option, jumping. You have to time it right and push forward as the swing goes back, or you'll mess up your momentum and fall." Hermione explains.
She prepares to leap and show him, but Harry, being the Gryffindor, he is, tries it first. He doesn't quite push off at the right time, and so haphazardly falls and splats in the mud, swing flying wildly above him.
"Harry!" she shouts with concern, leaping off her own seat in a smooth transition. "Harry are you alright?"
"'m fine." He says, climbing out of the mud and getting conked with the swing. "Ow. Still fine. Guess I didn't time that right."
"Not exactly." She says gently, tugging him up and stilling the swing. "You sure you're alright?"
"Yeah. I think I'll take it easy for a few, if that's alright." He responds.
"Sure." She agrees, and they plop in the seats of the swings.
"Hey, Hermione, I wanted to say." He says, making her look up at him, "Thanks for dragging me to all of this. I never would have done any of this if you hadn't, and I've had a really fun time."
"Harry, the fact that you hadn't had a chance to play in a playground before is criminal. Running around as a child somewhere like this is part of growing up, and I'm glad you didn't completely miss out." Hermione says, taking his hands. "Don't be afraid to ask if you want to do things like this. I won't pry, but I know you didn't have the best of times growing up. If I can help you, I don't know, regain part of your childhood, then by all means. You're my friend, Harry. I want to see you happy."
"Mione, I- Thanks." He blinks away, long lashes dripping rain. "It- it means a lot to me." They sit in the rain for a few minutes, both stealing looks at their still entwined hands, but neither saying anything.
"Hey Harry?" She says suddenly.
"Yeah?"
"Tag!" she bolts, cackling and running, weaving around the ladder and supports of the slide, around the other small structures for littler kids. He gets her as she's skirting a picnic table, Harry jumping onto the table and over to get a hand on her arm.
"You're it!" He shouts, smiling. He's faster than she is, and they spend a wild few minutes at an impasse around trees, darting one way then the other. Hermione get him back when she doubles over, pretending to be out of breath. Harry falls for the trap and get too close, allowing her to snap a hand on his fingers, before bolting. Unfortunately, there's nowhere for her to run but in the open field, as all the equipment and tables are behind Harry. It's a close race, only because Harry can't stay upright in the slick muddy grass, while Hermione, despite being slower, or perhaps because of it, can turn much faster.
The game ends when Harry finally catches up to her. She tries to switch directions and slips, and he, off balance, crashes into her. The pair are tangled up on the wet grass, clothes muddy and faces close.
"Hey." He says, grinning and obviously happy.
"Hey." She shoots back, grin just as wide.
"You're it." He says.
Hermione does the mature thing and sticks her tongue out at him. Harry's eyes lock on the pink appendage poked out at him, before it darts back to her lips. His pulse races as he realizes what position they're in. He crashed on top of her, his legs on either side of her own, them almost chest to chest, him holding himself up with one arm, her face just inches away. He freezes.
Hermione realizes too, just how close they are when she can feel his breath on her face. They're really close, just an inch or two apart, and she can't help but look at his lips, wondering if she should take the leap.
"Mione." Harry says lowly.
"Yes?" she breathes.
"Is- is it alright if I kiss you?" he asks.
She leans forward and closes the distance, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "That answer your question?"
"I don't think you're going home tonight." Harry says quietly, looking past her.
It was not what she was expecting and threw her for a loop for a moment.
"Look." He said, rolling off of her.
In the distance was every flashing light. The park sat on a small hill, which gave them enough of a view to see over the houses.
"Is that the bridge?" she asks.
"I think so. I don't know how the knight bus works, but I'm not sure it can get over the river when it's like this." He admits.
As her mind whirs, the mood is forgotten. Indeed, it looks like the torrential downpour overwhelmed the banks of the river. That much water, which showed no signs of slowing down, had been enough to pull away the foundation of the bridge. It had washed out.
"Mum's going to be so worried." She says, sucking her lower lip in to worry on.
'We can call from the house." Harry says, trying to be helpful.
"No, I think the telephone lines ran under the bridge. We can try, but I think the area is going to be disconnected." For a brief moment, she thinks about asking Hedwig to go, but, looking at the sky, decides it's best not to risk Harry's owl in this freak system. "It looks like you'll just have to put me up for the night." She says, climbing to her feet and trying to wipe off some of the mud that is… everywhere. She gives it up after a moment.
"Right. I'm happy to have you." He smiles at her under his hair, which has flopped into his eyes once again. She smiles back, but her mind is on her parents.
They head back to 4 Privet Drive, wading through the street, which has only gotten more flooded.
"Harry," Hermione says nervously, "How much food did the Dursleys leave? It looks like it may be dangerous to go out for a few days, until the water level falls. I don't want to cause any problems."
"They left plenty. I'm- I'm not supposed to get into it, but don't worry. I won't let you starve. And they can't really do much about it. If they try something, then the police will take them or me away. Or, if I can convince the officers to drop it, I'll leave. Tom at the Leaky said he has rooms open all summer. I err, I asked when we left last summer if I could come back."
Finally, with only a few close calls of being swept off their feet, the pair return to 4 Privet Drive. Harry lets them in and bolts the door behind them. He tries the lights, and thankfully they still have power.
"Good. I can toss your clothes in the dryer." He says offhandedly, before turning the color of Ginny's hair when she put her elbow in the butter.
"I mean- only if you'd like. I- you can stay clothed- I'm not- no expectation- but you're soaked. And wet clothes- pruning."
"Did you really just say pruning?" She asks, bemusedly.
"I reckon I did, yes." He says to the floor.
"Harry, if you'll show me the bathroom, I'd like a shower to get the mud out. You can dry my clothes while I'm in there." Harry nods silently, grabbing a towel out of the cupboard under the stairs.
"Try not to drip too much on the carpets? I just cleaned them this morning." He says, handing it to her before yanking it back. "On second thought, I'll have to clean them again anyway, so don't worry about it. The bathroom is this way."
Hermione follows him quietly, trying not to think too hard. She observes the offhand, "That's Dudley's' room. And, that door leads to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's. I haven't cleaned in there yet. And this is my room." He points out the various rooms, Dudley's having a rag sitting on the dresser, the door to his relatives closed. She forces her face to remain blank when she sees the locks and the cat flap on Harry's door. His trunk is open in the middle of the room, and Hedwig's cage is on the most beat up, ramshackle, falling apart dresser she's ever seen. She forces herself not to contrast that with the nice, oak dresser she saw in his cousin's room. 'Bad Hermione!'
"So, this is it." Harry says, poking at his trunk with his foot.
"I appreciate the tour, but bathroom?" she asks. He jumps and walks out of the room, quickly pulling a towel out of the hall closet.
"They don't like me using their towels, but I'll just wash it and they'll never know." He explains, pushing her to the other door in the hall. Through it is a small but clean bathroom, neatly tucked away. He shows her how the faucets work, absently talking. "You're lucky I put Dudley's things away. He's a slob and leaves everything scattered everywhere. I doubt you'd want to see his dirty underwear."
"No, I'd rather not." She states, turning up her nose and starting to pull off her shirt.
"Whoa!" Harry yelps, quickly turning to face the wall. "Warn a guy!"
"Well, you've got to take my clothes to dry them." She states, letting her shirt fall back down before turning as red as he is. "Yeah, I see your point. You've got to take all of it. I'm- I wasn't going to undress all the way in front of you Harry." She quickly reassures.
"I'll go sit on the stairs. You take everything off and leave it outside the door for me. Tell me when it's safe to get them and I'll throw them in the dryer and return them once it's done."
"Okay." She agrees, watching him walk out and sit on the stairs. Quickly, she pulls everything off and folds it, laying it in a pile. She's popping the clasp to her bra when she realizes that Harry is going to be handling it. She hadn't really thought it through, but Harry is going to be handing her underthings. Harry! She meekly set them down and pulls the door closed.
"You can come up now, it's safe." She calls out. She hears him walk up to the door, both of them fully aware that she's naked with only an inch or two of wood between them.
"There's soap and shampoo in the corner. A washcloth is under the sink. You've got the towel,"
"Yes!"
"Anything else?" he asks.
"Do you have a brush?"
"I'll grab one from Aunt Petunia." He runs off for a moment before walking back. "It's in my hand, my eyes are closed. Other hand is over them." He says. She cracks open the door and checks for herself, trusting him but not his hormones, and grabs the hairbrush.
"Thanks! I'll see you later."
"Um, have a- have a good time?" he says awkwardly.
"Um, yes. Sure." She says, face flaming. His footsteps lead away, and she hears him descend the stairs.
She hears him downstairs, and then the subtle thump of the dryer starting. She cuts the water on and steps in, trying not to think about him seeing her bra. She lathered up and started washing the mud off, definitely not thinking about how he looked, dragging the tree branches, or running around with her in the park. Her mind never went to how he looked under the oversized clothes, the corded muscle hidden by his relatives and the robes. She certainly didn't replay the scene of them in the grass, tangled up. Not with a far different ending. Most certainly not. That would be, would, would be, woul- absurd. Ludicrous. Banal. Pure ridiculousness. Absolutely childish and laughable and-
She flushed. 'Oh, so bitterly, wonderfully, damningly true.'
Harry very purposefully made himself not think about what he was carrying as he loaded the clothes in the washer. He debated if it was okay to throw his own shirt in there too, or if he should keep them separate, before abruptly realizing he was being silly. This was a washing machine- its entire purpose was to clean clothes. He shucked the shirt and tossed it in, filling the detergent and hitting the button. He started the cycle and checked the fridge and cabinets to figure out what he was feeding his guest. He was admittedly distracted, and it took him the entire wash cycle to figure out that he had everything for grilled cheese and that the Dursleys probably wouldn't miss any of the ingredients, if he was extremely careful about how he put everything back. He tossed the clothes into the dryer along with a dryer sheet for good measure and returned to the kitchen, absently preparing the kettle and straightening.
"Hey, Harry, are the clothes not dry yet?" Harry jumped, his chair screeching back at the unexpected voice.
"Hermione! No, they aren't dry yet. I washed the mud out first. They should be dry in a few." He said, looking up to see the girl wrapped in two towels, one for her body and one for her hair. Unbidden, he closed his eyes and clapped his hand over them. "Hermione, you're only in a towel."
"Yes. Harry don't be ridiculous, I'm covered up! Is the dryer in here?" She asked.
"Yes." He replied, refusing to lift his hand or open his eyes.
"I see. Huh, you have the same model as my mum's friend. It's probably got another 15 min. Harry, why don't you start your shower. I can unload the dryer and get dressed." She calls out from the side room.
"But what if I come down and you're changing?" he asks.
"Then you'll get an eyeful and be the pride of the fourth-year boys' dorm. I'll take the risk." She shoos him up the stairs and starts shaking out her hair over the sink. Upstairs, the floorboards in his room creak, before the shower cuts on.
Thankfully, (or to her dismay, she can't tell which) the dryer finishes before Harry comes back down, and she's properly attired before she sees him again.
"Good shower?" She asks.
"Decent enough." He says. (She ignores the flash of panic in his eyes as he realizes the innuendo)
"I appreciate you washing my clothes for me but be careful when you do. Some people have a reaction to certain types of detergent and can develop a mild rash if they wear clothes that have been washed with it." She holds up a hand, "I'm not allergic to anything in detergents, but I know people that are. Just a word of warning for the future."
"Good to know." Harry says, starting the kettle. "Tea?"
"Tea would be lovely." Hermione replies, wandering to the living room. "Harry? Are you not in any of these pictures?"
"I'm in one of them!" he calls back, walking in as he dries his hands. "It's right back here." He reaches behind an arrangement of photo stands and pulls out a tiny one crammed in the back. The picture within is of a younger Petunia with two toddlers, one in her arms, the other holding onto her leg. "She hated having to have that taken, but the lady who took it asked for both me and Dudley to be in it. She couldn't exactly refuse."
"Yes, she couldn't." Hermione agrees, watching him stick the photo back to its hiding place. 'It probably is only still here because she never sees it to get rid of it.' Hermione thinks.
"How does grilled cheese sound for supper?" Harry asks.
"That sounds wonderful." Hermione replies, letting herself be distracted from the Dursley Family Photos.
They have a quiet evening, as shortly after they start eating the lights flicker and die. Harry is quick to dig out a couple candles, and they chat about little things until late. By candlelight, they go through their evening routines, Harry digging out a toothbrush from a cabinet for her to use. There's a small period of awkwardness when they decide to go to bed, as Harry instinctively started toward his room, before abruptly halting to Hermione's' relief. While she isn't opposed to sharing a bed, as she's certain Harry would be a perfect gentleman, she'd much rather not. Instead, they drag the sheets from his bed and camp in the living room, both managing to fit on a couch. The rain, having slowed but not stopped, lulled them to sleep.