Disclaimer: Yes, I think everybody understands by now. Harry Potter and everything associated with Harry and Potter belong solely to the fabulous, wonderful world of J.K. Rowling. In no way, shape, or form do I claim any right, except my right to dream about Harry every night! Need I say more?
AN: Ok, the first fic that I've had the nerve to publish, well not publish but show to other people who aren't me. I just had this little idea bouncing in my head for a while, and thought what the heck…why not give it a try? So…here it is! And your reviews are always welcome, of course! I love to hear about anything and everything. Oh, and if anyone would be willing to beta for me (since I am only human *sigh*), in whatever area, I'd love you forever! ;)
For Your Benefit
by sKoN
"Harry, move a little to the right…wait go up a little, now down."
"Hermiionneee…"
"I've almost got it, now just move it up a little."
"Hermione! Make up your mind already! My arms are sore and aching from carrying this stupid thing, and I don't think I can hold it much longer…..remember where you're standing!"
"Just one more minute, Harry. Almost there…now go down, yes!"
Harry sighed in relief and offered a prayer of thanks as he levitated down towards the ground to stand next to the young woman who had been bossily ordering him around, her bright brown eyes gleaming even brighter with satisfaction. She stared at the painting a moment longer, scrutinizing every angle and line to make sure it was just perfect. With a smile and a nod, she expressed her approval, all the while ignoring the silly muttering about sore arms and bruises that seemed to echo off the man standing next to her. She rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation, "Really, Harry! You would think a grown man who fights off evil death eaters and dark lords and death curses every day of his life would be capable and strong enough to hold up a silly piece of paper covered in paint for a few minutes." Harry choked in indignation and disbelief.
"Silly piece of paper!" he cried, "You try floating in the air, holding a 100 pound wooden frame with ten pounds of your bodyweight while the person who supposedly claims to be your best friend barks around orders for the next hour, completely oblivious to a normal person's feelings and needs!"
"Well that certainly wouldn't make sense," Hermione replied in her most sensible voice, only managing to drive him mad by her indifference. He sighed in frustration, and flung his arms up, immediately regretting the act as a sharp pain ran through him.
"Now, now Harry, there is absolutely nothing to get so riled up about," Hermione answered smoothly, used to handling tantrums and outbursts like these from past experiences. "We'll put some ice on it, and your arms will feel like new in no time." She gave him a little pat on the shoulders, like she would a child, and walked through the entryway into the large living area, summing up the room with another quick appraisal.
"Ice? Hermione, you're a bloody medi-witch! Don't you know any…?" His rant was momentarily distracted as Hermione bent down to adjust a box on the floor, an action that caused her skirt to ride up a little bit farther and reveal an expanse of smooth creamy skin that had been well hidden from view before. His mouth had suddenly gone dry, and words seem to be escaping him. Harry looked up to see Hermione staring up at him, waiting impatiently for him to continue his question. He became flustered all over again, and tried valiantly to focus on anything than Hermione at the moment. "Ah…never mind," seemed be the shortest and most comprehensible phrase he could muster at the moment, and was relieved beyond words…again, those stupid words …when Hermione just shrugged, as if dismissing his strange behavior, and turned back to her appraisal of the room.
It gave him a few quick moments to carefully evaluate what had just occurred. The first was quite obvious – he had been looking at Hermione again, one of his best friends whom he had known since he was just a wee-little boy of 11, in a manner which would be deemed quite improper of a good and supposedly loyal friend of 12 years, never-mind the fact that the girl standing in front of him was no longer the wee-little girl of 11 but a grown, mature, and sexy woman with deliciously smooth skin and tantalizing curves. What did it matter if said woman usually hid every naughty detail of the woman anatomy behind proper wool skirts and blouses? Not at all, Harry mused, as long he knew it was there, and could take a peek once in a while just to make sure. Uh Oh. Bad Harry, he reprimanded, oh very very bad. These rampant thoughts led to another question: when had Hermione become so sexy…in fact, when had she become a woman at all? If Harry could have answered the one question that had been plaguing him day and night, then it seemed to him a great big mystery would have finally been solved, and the world would have turned back to its normal axis, where it rightly belonged.
He stood in the same spot for the next few moments, trying to answer his questions and sort out his thoughts, mischievous and wicked at times although he tried to suppress them (he really truly did), in the most proper manner he thought fit for a friend of a friend. A friend, Harry kept repeating to himself…not a woman, but a friend. His thoughts kept him occupied for a while, not realizing that thirty minutes had already passed, Hermione had finished her assessment of the apartment, and was currently trying to revive Harry from whatever coma or stupor had overtaken him. "Harry...Harry," she kept repeating while waving a slender hand in front of his face. Finally, she decided to pinch him where it would hurt the most: his arms.
"Ow!" he yelped, cradling the abused arm to his chest. He looked at her with a twinge of annoyance. "What was that for?"
"You were in dream-land and I decided to wake you up," Hermione answered matter-of-factly, unfazed, and in all honesty a little amused, by his reaction. "And anyway, don't you have that important meeting you said you had to attend today," she gave a fleeting glance at her watch, "at six?"
"Yeah…why?" he asked a little suspiciously. Slowly, he glanced at his own watch and uttered a great, big, curse. It was past six, albeit only a minute past six, but Harry doubted it would make much difference. "Damn…" Harry cursed again as he ran to the entrance, dodging and kicking past all the boxes that cluttered the hallway. He stumbled out the apartment and into the hall, readying himself to quickly apparate when he heard a breezy voice call out his name, somewhat muffled by the thick wall separating them. "What?" he yelled impatiently.
"Don't forget, you're coming to help me unpack tomorrow also," Hemione reminded him teasingly from behind the door. "I expect you to be here at 10 a.m. sharp," she mockingly ordered in a voice all too reminiscent of Professor McGonogall of Hogwarts when she heard Harry groan from the doorway. The door opened abruptly, and Hermione stuck her head out, smiling like an innocent school girl that could do no wrong. Suddenly, she stuck her tongue out at him, and slammed the door closed before she could witness his reaction, her giggling following her all the way. His breath caught in his throat at her impulsive action, suddenly finding the simple act of passing air through his nose insanely impossible. Oh yes, Harry thought darkly before he apparated, I'm in deep trouble, very deep trouble.
AN: So how is it, should I continue because I'm itching to get it all out!