DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter characters.
CHAPTER 4:
"Home sweet home," Harry declared, turning the key to their apartment door and opening it. My eyes traveled the length of their sizable flat, looking at everything - from the plush maroon couch (reminiscent of the Gryffindor Common Room) to their cinder block fireplace, the functional kitchen with all the pots and pans that look like they had never been used, a bookcase filled to the brim with books and other bric-a-brac (trust Ron to place his Broomstick Servicing Kit in a bookcase) and the two very different doors that stood at either side of the room.
I moved toward the nearest one, a redwood door painted in a very, very deep shade of red, a gold doorknob and a vague outline of a broomstick drawn on it. If you looked very closely, you could see that the broomstick was outlined in gold dust.
At least, I think it's gold dust.
Ron lunged forward and gripped the knob before I can. "You can't go in."
"Why not?" I asked him, putting my hands on my hips. "I think I'm entitled to see what lies inside your room, Ronald Weasley, after all the times you've been up in my room when I was Head Girl."
"It's not exactly...clean."
"What do you mean by 'not exactly'? How long has it actually been since you cleaned it?"
Ron grimaced. "Dunno. Couple of months, I guess. Or last year. I've forgotten, really."
I made a face and backed away a step. "You haven't cleaned your room in a year?" I exclaimed. "I clean mine once a week."
"Hey," Ron shot back, looking slightly hurt. "To each their own, eh? If you want to see a clean room, better check out Harry's. He's a neat freak."
I didn't give it a second thought as I bolted for Harry's door - a plain white one with the same gold knob. I turned the handle and gasped. Harry's room *is* clean. A little too clean if you ask me, I mean, for a guy. His walls and ceiling were painted a deep, midnight blue and the ceiling was lightly dotted with small gold stars. I made my way to his bed and sat down.
Soft and comfortable. David has his bed specially contoured to mold his body. It's more comfortable that way, he says. For him, maybe.
Not that I've ever slept in his bed, of course.
* * *
Harry watched silently as Hermione sat down on the edge of his bed and bounced herself a little. He could tell that she was quite comfortable on it - and she should be. Not one girl has complained about his bed.
"You've got great sheets," Hermione murmured, running her lean fingers smoothly over his white cotton sheets. "They're so soft."
He could suddenly feel himself growing hard and he bit his lower lip to keep him from betraying his surprise at feeling this way.
/How does she do it?/ he thought, watching intently as Hermione continued to run her hand through his sheets. /She's just admiring my sheets and she's already got me up./
"You've got *the* most perfect bed," she continued to say, laying her body down on the cool, white sheets. "I like soft beds." She smiled at him when she said it and Harry had to stifle a groan.
/Come on, Hermione, get off the bed. Please get off the bed,/ Harry silently prayed. He remembered what happened earlier at the Quidditch Pitch. One moment he was busy looking around for the Snitch and the next moment he was just flying steadily, helplessly staring at Hermione as she licked her wrist.
He groaned then, of course, as he watched her tongue escape from her mouth and lick whatever it was she was licking from her wrist. Then Cho yelled that she had gotten the Snitch. And now...
/She's right here...on my bed.../ Harry thought, feeling as helpless as before. /Please, please get off the bed. You don't know what you're doing to me... Please, get off the bed before I do something that will make you hate me forever./
He could do it - right now. He could cast a locking and silencing charm on the door to ward off Ron, push Hermione on the bed and take her right there. Judging from the way his body was reacting to her, she would have him come in no more than several seconds. And that idea was *very* tempting.
But Harry knew he wouldn't be able to do it. He respected her too much to violate her in such a way. He wanted her so badly, the pain was almost too much to bear. After all, he's waited four years. But he knew that just seeing the look in her eyes would make him stop. If she wanted him to stop, even when he's just about to come, he knows he'll stop.
But Hermione was just *there*, lying on his bed, looking all sexy and inviting and enticing...
"Are you two going to snog in there all night or are you going to help me make dinner?" Ron called from outside.
He'd have to remind himself to thank Ron for doing that.
Hermione sat up and fixed her hair. "I guess we'd better go and help out. I have to leave soon anyway."
"But it'll be too dark for you to go home," Harry pointed out. "It's not safe for you, even if you were with me. You know how desperate Muggles can be. Why don't you sleep over here..."
She giggled at this. "I can Apparate home, Harry. Or have you forgotten that I'm a witch?"
"Oh..." Harry felt stupid. "Right. Sorry, I guess I did forget..."
"A little help, please!" Ron called again.
* * *
"I hope you don't mind having soup and salad for dinner," Ron was saying when Harry and I left his room. "I haven't really gotten past the soups and salads part of the cookbook Mum gave me last winter."
"Well, at least I know what I'm getting you for your birthday then. A cookbook," I told him, peering at the boiling orange concoction inside a pot. I wrinkled my nose. "What is this?"
"Pumpkin soup," Ron declared proudly. "First ever soup I tried to make."
"Doesn't smell too appealing, does it?" I asked.
"Well, I haven't added the milk and the other herbs in but it tastes great. Ask Harry." He turned to Harry and pointed his ladle at him. "Doesn't it, Harry?"
"Yeah, yeah it does. Terrific," Harry answered, trying to keep a straight face.
"That totally convinces me, Ron," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Harry opened one cabinet and pulled out three plates and three goblets. I walked over to where he was standing and took a hold of the plates.
"Hey," Harry said softly, placing an hand on my arm. "You're not supposed to do that. You're our guest."
"Harry, I'm not a guest. I might as well be living here with the two of you if I hadn't left. Besides, you've paid for everything today. This is the least I could do to make it up for your kindness."
"This is your welcome-back dinner and you're the guest of honor. I don't think guests of honor help out with setting the table."
"Harry."
"Hermione."
"Fine, if you insist," I declared, sighing, placing the plates in Harry's hands. Our skin brushed against each other for a moment and I felt a warm sensation envelope me. It was vaguely familiar and reminded me of times when Harry and I had just been best friends and I had yet to realize that I had feelings for him. I pulled my hands away quickly and sat on one of the stools that surrounded the counter.
I sat there, pondering over my luck. Two of the wizarding world's most gorgeous, most available and most talented men were standing before me, in pristine white aprons and cooking *me* dinner.
Me - plain, old, Hermione Granger.
It was a beautiful scene. Ron, the sexy, redheaded Keeper with a fiery determination and the sexy skill to charm the pants off any woman, cooking pumpkin soup and tearing lettuce leaves apart, all the while humming to Gloria Gaynor's *I Will Survive*. Harry, the Boy Who Lived Yet Again turned Seeker, with his boyish charm, piercing emerald green eyes and the sexiest smile that melts women's hearts, slicing a whole baguette into pieces and toasting them, while singing silently along with Ron. And me, Hermione, with my slightly tamed hair, big brown eyes and a big mouth, just sitting there, watching my two best friends suddenly whirl around to face each other and sing:
*Oh not, not I! I will survive! Yeah, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll be alive I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give I will survive I will survive Hey, hey!*
I don't know if it bothers you, but there's just something wrong about two, straight men singing "I Will Survive."
Just a thought.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Harry asked me for the millionth time that night. "I could go sleep in the couch. You can have my room."
"I'll be fine, Harry. No one's going to rob me while I'm Apparating."
"It's been a while since you've done it," he pointed out.
I gave him a wilting look. "I did Apparate while I was in Cambridge. I had evening lessons with Professor Asser. Do you actually think I'd walk back to my apartment alone?"
"Didn't David drive you home?"
"He's got shifts at the hospital. I couldn't really bother him. Besides, Apparating doesn't run into traffic or get flats." I placed my hand on top of his. "Stop being such a worrywart, Harry. I'll be fine. If it'll make you feel any better, I'll send Crookshanks over to tell you I'm home."
"Well, I can't have Crookshanks roaming the streets of London at night either. What if he gets run over? I don't even want to think about it. What about if I send Hedwig ahead? She can come back when you're safely home."
I laughed. "Since when did you become my dad, Harry Potter?"
Then, he did something unexpected. He raised his right hand and smoothed my cheek. "I'm just concerned about you, that's all," he whispered. "Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"I was wondering, if you were free tomorrow night, maybe we could go see a movie or something..." he let his voice trail off.
"Oh," I said, stammering a little. "I can't tomorrow. David and I made plans to check out the bridal registry at the Ritz-Carlton..."
"Right, of course," Harry replied, a little too loudly. As if he was trying to scare away something that had been lurking around. "The Ritz-Carlton. That's a pretty fancy place."
"Yeah. I told David it was a bit too pricey but he just gave me that 'Nothing's-too-good-for-you' line." I tried to make it sound like a joke but all I got in response was a sad smile. "I guess I should get going now."
Harry nodded.
"I'll try and send word tomorrow. Thanks so much for today and dinner. I really loved hanging out with you again."
"Yeah," Harry said, trying to smile.
I turned my back to him and Disapparated.
CHAPTER 4:
"Home sweet home," Harry declared, turning the key to their apartment door and opening it. My eyes traveled the length of their sizable flat, looking at everything - from the plush maroon couch (reminiscent of the Gryffindor Common Room) to their cinder block fireplace, the functional kitchen with all the pots and pans that look like they had never been used, a bookcase filled to the brim with books and other bric-a-brac (trust Ron to place his Broomstick Servicing Kit in a bookcase) and the two very different doors that stood at either side of the room.
I moved toward the nearest one, a redwood door painted in a very, very deep shade of red, a gold doorknob and a vague outline of a broomstick drawn on it. If you looked very closely, you could see that the broomstick was outlined in gold dust.
At least, I think it's gold dust.
Ron lunged forward and gripped the knob before I can. "You can't go in."
"Why not?" I asked him, putting my hands on my hips. "I think I'm entitled to see what lies inside your room, Ronald Weasley, after all the times you've been up in my room when I was Head Girl."
"It's not exactly...clean."
"What do you mean by 'not exactly'? How long has it actually been since you cleaned it?"
Ron grimaced. "Dunno. Couple of months, I guess. Or last year. I've forgotten, really."
I made a face and backed away a step. "You haven't cleaned your room in a year?" I exclaimed. "I clean mine once a week."
"Hey," Ron shot back, looking slightly hurt. "To each their own, eh? If you want to see a clean room, better check out Harry's. He's a neat freak."
I didn't give it a second thought as I bolted for Harry's door - a plain white one with the same gold knob. I turned the handle and gasped. Harry's room *is* clean. A little too clean if you ask me, I mean, for a guy. His walls and ceiling were painted a deep, midnight blue and the ceiling was lightly dotted with small gold stars. I made my way to his bed and sat down.
Soft and comfortable. David has his bed specially contoured to mold his body. It's more comfortable that way, he says. For him, maybe.
Not that I've ever slept in his bed, of course.
* * *
Harry watched silently as Hermione sat down on the edge of his bed and bounced herself a little. He could tell that she was quite comfortable on it - and she should be. Not one girl has complained about his bed.
"You've got great sheets," Hermione murmured, running her lean fingers smoothly over his white cotton sheets. "They're so soft."
He could suddenly feel himself growing hard and he bit his lower lip to keep him from betraying his surprise at feeling this way.
/How does she do it?/ he thought, watching intently as Hermione continued to run her hand through his sheets. /She's just admiring my sheets and she's already got me up./
"You've got *the* most perfect bed," she continued to say, laying her body down on the cool, white sheets. "I like soft beds." She smiled at him when she said it and Harry had to stifle a groan.
/Come on, Hermione, get off the bed. Please get off the bed,/ Harry silently prayed. He remembered what happened earlier at the Quidditch Pitch. One moment he was busy looking around for the Snitch and the next moment he was just flying steadily, helplessly staring at Hermione as she licked her wrist.
He groaned then, of course, as he watched her tongue escape from her mouth and lick whatever it was she was licking from her wrist. Then Cho yelled that she had gotten the Snitch. And now...
/She's right here...on my bed.../ Harry thought, feeling as helpless as before. /Please, please get off the bed. You don't know what you're doing to me... Please, get off the bed before I do something that will make you hate me forever./
He could do it - right now. He could cast a locking and silencing charm on the door to ward off Ron, push Hermione on the bed and take her right there. Judging from the way his body was reacting to her, she would have him come in no more than several seconds. And that idea was *very* tempting.
But Harry knew he wouldn't be able to do it. He respected her too much to violate her in such a way. He wanted her so badly, the pain was almost too much to bear. After all, he's waited four years. But he knew that just seeing the look in her eyes would make him stop. If she wanted him to stop, even when he's just about to come, he knows he'll stop.
But Hermione was just *there*, lying on his bed, looking all sexy and inviting and enticing...
"Are you two going to snog in there all night or are you going to help me make dinner?" Ron called from outside.
He'd have to remind himself to thank Ron for doing that.
Hermione sat up and fixed her hair. "I guess we'd better go and help out. I have to leave soon anyway."
"But it'll be too dark for you to go home," Harry pointed out. "It's not safe for you, even if you were with me. You know how desperate Muggles can be. Why don't you sleep over here..."
She giggled at this. "I can Apparate home, Harry. Or have you forgotten that I'm a witch?"
"Oh..." Harry felt stupid. "Right. Sorry, I guess I did forget..."
"A little help, please!" Ron called again.
* * *
"I hope you don't mind having soup and salad for dinner," Ron was saying when Harry and I left his room. "I haven't really gotten past the soups and salads part of the cookbook Mum gave me last winter."
"Well, at least I know what I'm getting you for your birthday then. A cookbook," I told him, peering at the boiling orange concoction inside a pot. I wrinkled my nose. "What is this?"
"Pumpkin soup," Ron declared proudly. "First ever soup I tried to make."
"Doesn't smell too appealing, does it?" I asked.
"Well, I haven't added the milk and the other herbs in but it tastes great. Ask Harry." He turned to Harry and pointed his ladle at him. "Doesn't it, Harry?"
"Yeah, yeah it does. Terrific," Harry answered, trying to keep a straight face.
"That totally convinces me, Ron," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Harry opened one cabinet and pulled out three plates and three goblets. I walked over to where he was standing and took a hold of the plates.
"Hey," Harry said softly, placing an hand on my arm. "You're not supposed to do that. You're our guest."
"Harry, I'm not a guest. I might as well be living here with the two of you if I hadn't left. Besides, you've paid for everything today. This is the least I could do to make it up for your kindness."
"This is your welcome-back dinner and you're the guest of honor. I don't think guests of honor help out with setting the table."
"Harry."
"Hermione."
"Fine, if you insist," I declared, sighing, placing the plates in Harry's hands. Our skin brushed against each other for a moment and I felt a warm sensation envelope me. It was vaguely familiar and reminded me of times when Harry and I had just been best friends and I had yet to realize that I had feelings for him. I pulled my hands away quickly and sat on one of the stools that surrounded the counter.
I sat there, pondering over my luck. Two of the wizarding world's most gorgeous, most available and most talented men were standing before me, in pristine white aprons and cooking *me* dinner.
Me - plain, old, Hermione Granger.
It was a beautiful scene. Ron, the sexy, redheaded Keeper with a fiery determination and the sexy skill to charm the pants off any woman, cooking pumpkin soup and tearing lettuce leaves apart, all the while humming to Gloria Gaynor's *I Will Survive*. Harry, the Boy Who Lived Yet Again turned Seeker, with his boyish charm, piercing emerald green eyes and the sexiest smile that melts women's hearts, slicing a whole baguette into pieces and toasting them, while singing silently along with Ron. And me, Hermione, with my slightly tamed hair, big brown eyes and a big mouth, just sitting there, watching my two best friends suddenly whirl around to face each other and sing:
*Oh not, not I! I will survive! Yeah, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll be alive I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give I will survive I will survive Hey, hey!*
I don't know if it bothers you, but there's just something wrong about two, straight men singing "I Will Survive."
Just a thought.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Harry asked me for the millionth time that night. "I could go sleep in the couch. You can have my room."
"I'll be fine, Harry. No one's going to rob me while I'm Apparating."
"It's been a while since you've done it," he pointed out.
I gave him a wilting look. "I did Apparate while I was in Cambridge. I had evening lessons with Professor Asser. Do you actually think I'd walk back to my apartment alone?"
"Didn't David drive you home?"
"He's got shifts at the hospital. I couldn't really bother him. Besides, Apparating doesn't run into traffic or get flats." I placed my hand on top of his. "Stop being such a worrywart, Harry. I'll be fine. If it'll make you feel any better, I'll send Crookshanks over to tell you I'm home."
"Well, I can't have Crookshanks roaming the streets of London at night either. What if he gets run over? I don't even want to think about it. What about if I send Hedwig ahead? She can come back when you're safely home."
I laughed. "Since when did you become my dad, Harry Potter?"
Then, he did something unexpected. He raised his right hand and smoothed my cheek. "I'm just concerned about you, that's all," he whispered. "Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"I was wondering, if you were free tomorrow night, maybe we could go see a movie or something..." he let his voice trail off.
"Oh," I said, stammering a little. "I can't tomorrow. David and I made plans to check out the bridal registry at the Ritz-Carlton..."
"Right, of course," Harry replied, a little too loudly. As if he was trying to scare away something that had been lurking around. "The Ritz-Carlton. That's a pretty fancy place."
"Yeah. I told David it was a bit too pricey but he just gave me that 'Nothing's-too-good-for-you' line." I tried to make it sound like a joke but all I got in response was a sad smile. "I guess I should get going now."
Harry nodded.
"I'll try and send word tomorrow. Thanks so much for today and dinner. I really loved hanging out with you again."
"Yeah," Harry said, trying to smile.
I turned my back to him and Disapparated.