"Well that's that." Hermione sent Hedwig off in a soft flurry of wings. She turned to find Harry regarding her with an unreadable expression. "I hope Ron isn't too upset with us." Was it her imagination or did something flicker in his eyes when she mentioned Ron?
Harry unfolded his lanky frame from the wall he'd been leaning against and began piling things back onto their trolleys. For a moment, Hermione stood gazing appreciatively as he hefted boxes and trunks, her mouth turned up in a half-smile. There was no harm in looking, she told herself, as she had told herself many times before. After all it would be a crime not to take the time to admire such a fine specimen of a wizard. The muscles in his arms flexed as he deposited one last box on top of her trunk.
"What on earth have you got in there, Hermione? Boulders?" Harry was breathing hard.
With an effort, Hermione tore her gaze from his chest, which was heaving slightly from the exertion. Had it always been this broad? She didn't think so. She'd been studying Harry's body covertly for some time now, and she definitely detected some changes, all of them favorable. "Hmmm, what?" She found a pair of green eyes regarding her with exasperated amusement.
"You know, the last time I checked, they have sinks at Hogwarts. You didn't need to pack yours."
"Very funny."
"It's hours before sunset. We can't hail the Knight Bus before then. Are we just going to hang about the platform with all this stuff for the rest of the day?"
"'Course not, silly. We'll get a locker."
"Big enough for all this?" Harry indicated her trolley which was piled precariously high. "Not to mention the furred wonder over here." Crookshanks opened one eye and then closed it again dismissively.
"Don't worry about it. Follow me."
Hermione led the way to a row of grey metal compartments, stopping when she reached one that was marked "Out of Order." Taking hold of the rusty combination lock, she rapped it sharply three times against the door. Next she stood on her tiptoes to try and reach the vents at the top of the locker but couldn't quite reach. "Give me a boost," she said, repressing the tiny shiver that ran up her spine when his large hands clasped her about the waist and lifted. Placing her mouth close to the slotted openings, she whispered, "Flibbertygibbet." Harry lowered her back to the floor and she felt a pang of disappointment as his hands left her.
The door of the locker swung open slowly and Harry gasped. Instead of the usual compartment, there was a spacious looking room lined with shelves. Against one wall was a rather bored looking witch, seated at desk. Harry quickly looked back over his shoulder at all the Muggles milling around, but Hermione just grinned. "It's all right; it just looks like an ordinary locker to them. Mrs. Weasley told me about this locker last year when I went shopping with her for Ginny's birthday present. It's really convenient. Just leave your things with the attendant and come back for them when you're ready to go. It costs 5 sickles, but I think it's well worth it."
"Fill this out, please." The witch slid a claim slip across the desk to Hermione along with a quill. She caught sight of Crookshanks. "Leaving the cat?"
"Yes, please," said Hermione. "We'll only be gone for a few hours."
The witch did not look thrilled, but waved her wand and muttered something under her breath. In a corner, a cage containing dishes of cat food and water appeared, along with what must have been a litter box. "Don't want him messing up the place. Owls, now, they're no trouble. Don't go round scratching things up." She gave Crookshanks a steely look.
"C'mon, Harry, let's go." Hermione grabbed his hand and led him off.
To her great surprise, Harry did not pull away from her grasp. His long fingers curled around hers. His palms were callused from years of gripping his broom while he darted after the elusive Snitch in countless Quidditch matches. She had a sudden vivid image of those large, roughened palms sliding over her body. Her breasts, her thighs . . . She lost her balance and stumbled.
Harry turned to catch her and she found herself smashed up against his hard and undeniably broad chest. Oh good one, she congratulated herself. Enjoying this, aren't you? Look at you. Reduced to feeling up the poor boy's chest with your nose. Get a grip, Granger. She straightened, giving him an apologetic look. She did not take his hand again.
She was finding out what Voldemort had discovered all those years ago. Touching Harry Potter was dangerous. She'd thought she was over it – her silly schoolgirl crush on him. She was damned if she was going to be one of the simpering idiots who followed him all over school and waited for him after Quidditch practice. Well, she did go with him all over school, but that was because they were friends. Buddies. And she did wait for him after Quidditch practice sometimes, but she did not simper.
Hermione Granger was an imminently sensible girl. She had very little tolerance for impractical crushes which would most definitely ruin an old and deeply valued friendship. She simply waited for the feelings to pass. The trouble was, it had been years now and the feelings didn't seem to be passing. Dating other people hadn't helped. Even poor, sweet Ron.
She wondered why she hadn't had a problem dating Ron. After all he, too, was her best friend. Somehow, going out with Ron was safe. Safe, nice, sweet. All those words had made Ron cringe when she'd tried to explain her feelings to him. He didn't want to be safe, he'd said. He wanted to make someone tremble. In the end, they had agreed that they were better as friends. She had feared it would make things awkward, but in fact, their failed foray into romance actually brought the two of them closer together. Ron relaxed about her love life. He still offered advice and pointed out flaws ("I'm serious. I think his left leg is shorter than his right. See how he kind of tilts off to the side?"), but somehow she wasn't offended. It was as if accepting that their love for each other would always be platonic had lifted a huge burden from both of them.
She grinned. Well, Ron certainly wasn't getting safe, nice and sweet with Fleur. The part-veela girl was many things, but not those. Fiery, passionate, and volatile were more like it. She'd teased Ron about being careful what he wished for. Ron had just laughed and said that at least life with Fleur was never boring.
"What are you thinking about, Hermione?" Harry had noticed her smiling.
"Ron," she answered, truthfully.
"Oh." If Hermione didn't know better, she'd swear that Harry looked disappointed. "Watch out there!" They had left the station and emerged onto the street. Hermione had been about to step off the curb into a large, nasty looking puddle. "C'mon. Here."
Be careful what you wish for, Hermione thought as she reached out to take the hand he was offering her.