Summary: Hermione's fallen. Hard. And quite frankly she's not too happy about it. It's so illogical, so inconvenient, so irrational. Falling for your best friend - how cliched.
Authors Note: I was totally blown away with the amount of reviews. I honestly wasn't expecting that many so quickly. The introduction was purposely ambiguous but I did put in a few clues as to which best friend it was. The couple is one that I'm ridiculously attached to – often to the point of insanity, especially when reading the books and analysing every single bit of dialogue – and I don't foresee jumping ship in the future. It's my preferred ship; I like it therefore I (attempt) to write it. All shall be revealed in this chapter anyway, so enjoy!
Oh yeah – this story will actually have a plot aside from the romance factor. Really, it will!
as of 24/04 I have made this chapter a wee bit longer :)
How Clichéd
Chapter One
Friday afternoon had found Hermione sprawled on a wicker chair, a glass of iced pumpkin juice in one hand and a leather-bound book in another (Hogwarts, A [Re-revised] History – Special Edition), but she wasn't reading. Hermione had found that, to her great displeasure, today her attention span was not unlike that of a goldfish. She simply could not concentrate for more than three seconds before her mind wandered.
It could have been the heat, of course. It was hot enough to fry up a three course meal on the pavement outside and that kind of heat would be enough to distract even the most focused of individuals. Even with the many charms and magically enhanced air conditioning (spells courtesy of Mr Weasley) the hot breeze still assailed her every chance it got. Her hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail and her shirt was sticking to her back. Surely, her distracted state could be blamed on the heat.
But even Hermione wasn't so completely oblivious as that. She was well aware that, crippling heat aside, the most probably cause for her distraction was sitting a mere three feet away, nose buried in a glossy Quidditch catalogue.
He was sitting on the kitchen countertop, legs swinging against the cupboards below. His hair fell messily over his forehead. Every once in a while he'd run a distracted hand through the dark strands but to no avail. The unruly mess just kept right on falling back. There was a slight sheen of perspiration across his forehead, and the sunlight glinted off his glasses. People had been reminding him for years that he could do something to get rid of the trademark glasses, but he just laughed it off. He told them he looked better with them than without them.
Hermione knew this wasn't true. He looked good with them or without them. In fact, he looked good no matter what. Personally, she adored his glasses to bits (almost as much as the man behind them, actually). Made him look all sexy and intellectual.
Hmm, he was looking rather sexy and intellectual right now, as a matter of fact.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a blinding flash of light followed by a loud thud and a yelped curse. She sighed. Ron must have forgotten about the wards around her apartment and had attempted to Apparate inside. Again. He'd undoubtedly bounced off the shield (hence the thud and cursing) and was probably on his way to some remote location. She tried to remember the location rotation of the spell.
"Oh dear," she murmured. "I think I just sent Ron to Australia."
Harry Potter peered over the top of the catalogue, one eyebrow arched in amusement. He opened his mouth as though to speak but, before he could say a word, there was a loud 'crack' at the front door.
"Hermione!"
When Hermione hastily threw open the door, Ron rewarded her with an icy glare. "Thank you so very much for the trip."
Hermione bit her lip and stepped back. Ron's face was dangerously close to matching the colour of his hair and Hermione felt it prudent to get out of the way before he decided to forgo the greetings and salutations and whipped out his wand.
"Sorry," Hermione said sheepishly. "But the wards have been in place for months now. I would have thought that, after the last time you ended up in –"
"Antarctica," Harry supplied helpfully. For that he received a glare from Hermione (she didn't think he was looking so sexy and intellectual at that particular moment) and promptly buried his face back into the catalogue, biting back a smile.
Hermione continued. "Yes, Antarctica. After something like that, I would have thought you'd have remembered."
Ron just stood in the doorway and glared.
"Australia?" she asked finally.
"No." Ron snapped. "Worse."
Hermione arched an eyebrow in silent question.
"New Zealand."
It was all Hermione could do to hold back a laugh.
Harry didn't bother holding back – whether it was the incredibly offended expression on Ron's face or the fact that the lanky red-head had a number of twigs in his hair and a grass stain at the back of his pants was a point for debate – and he nearly fell of the counter in mirth.
Ron was less than amused.
Hermione shrugged apologetically.
Her younger years had taught her the value of a reliable security system, especially when one was friends with the most famous wizard of all time, and the first thing she'd done after purchasing said apartment (with the added help of her parents) was to whip out her wand and charm everything in sight. Literally. She was currently researching charms that would enable her to exclude certain people from the wards.
She was sure Ron would certainly appreciate the effort.
When she explained this Ron simmered down somewhat, enthusiastically promising to give her a gift courtesy of Fred and George later on. Hermione made a mental note not to touch anything handled by Ron that evening. She didn't particularly want to turn into a canary or develop an extra set of arms. Yellow feathers would undoubtedly clash horribly with her shoes and as for the extra arms … well, there were a few too many problems associated with that particular thought.
Harry stopped laughing long enough to suggest that they depart.
"Yes, lets," Hermione said. "With Ron traipsing about all over the world, we're late enough as it is."
"Might I remind you that travelling to New Zealand was not my intention," Ron said, running a hand through his hair. "Nor was it my fault."
Hermione shrugged and waved her hand dismissively. "A mere technicality. Did I ask you to Apparate inside? No, I didn't. You could have come through the fireplace like any normal person."
Ron blinked. "Do you know how hot it is today? I would've been roasted alive."
"What's your point?"
Harry, having been privy to these little spats for a good number of years, smoothly stepped between Hermione and Ron and tapped his watch. "May I remind you both that we're dangerously close to missing out on supper entirely. The entire Weasley entourage is going to be present. Do we really want to miss out on dessert, too? I believe Mrs Weasley said something about chilled pumpkin pie and cream."
Ron and Hermione shared a look. They shook hands in a temporary truce – Mrs Weasley's pumpkin pie was to die for. There was nothing quite like it.
Hermione ducked into the hallway in search of her shoes. She slipped her bare feet into a pair of white sandals. She tucked her wand into the back pocket of her denim shorts and tightened the elastic band around her ponytail.
"Hurry up, would you!" Ron yelled indelicately from the front door.
Hermione grabbed her bag and keys from the hall table and said crossly, "Keep your knickers on Ron, I'm coming."
Finally, they were on their way.
When Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow, they were slightly surprised to find that Ron hadn't joined them. He Apparated beside them moments later. It turned out his trip to the Southern Hemisphere had put his sense of direction a little off base – he'd ended up in the next suburb over.
"Bloody witches," Ron muttered, glowering at Hermione.
It looked as though Harry was about to collapse into a (rather unmanly) giggling heap again, so Hermione briskly grabbed both their arms and arbitrarily hauled them across the yard to the front door.
As Harry had predicted, the entire Weasley family – including dates, fiancés, spouses, children and pets – was present. Well, it certainly sounded as though all were present. The trio were assailed with a boisterous wave of noise the second they opened the front door. (They were also assailed with a wave of very nice, very icy air, but no one had anything to comment about on that front seeing as they were too busy luxuriating in the cold.)
Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the seven, bounced up to them – yes, Hermione thought, she's actually bouncing – a huge grin on her freckled face. Ginny had spent her last few years at Hogwarts shooting up several inches and gaining a wit quick enough to rival that of her twin brothers.
She waved a perfectly manicured hand in front of Hermione's face.
Hermione caught the glint of gold and her eyes widened. "Oh my goodness, he didn't?"
Ginny nodded, her eyes bright. "He certainly did."
Ginny had also spent the last few years out of Hogwarts getting intimately acquainted with a particular Hogwarts graduate. One who was coming toward them right now, as a matter of fact.
"Oh!" Hermione squealed (yes, squealed – despite her assertions to logic and all that, she was as girly as anyone else in matters of matrimony). "Congratulations!"
She threw her arms around one slightly startled Neville Longbottom.
"Congratulations mate," Harry said, slapping a comradely hand across Neville's back. He swept Ginny up in a tight hug. "So he finally proposed, huh?"
"And she said yes," Neville said, grinning from ear to ear. By this time Hermione had released him from her bone-crunching hug and Neville slipped a possessive arm around Ginny's waist.
"About bloody time, too. I thought I was going to have to do it myself on your behalf." Ron declared. He grabbed Neville's hand and shook it rather enthusiastically. He then yanked Neville toward him and peered down at him through slitted eyes. "Hurt my sister and I will not hesitate to hex you into the afterlife." He loosened his grip and turned to Ginny, grinning widely. "And, having said that, I hope you have a long and happy life together."
Ginny rolled her eyes and returned the hug, but the smile never faded. "Thanks," she said wryly. She then reclaimed her fiancé from her brother's ardent grip. She gestured toward the kitchen. "Everyone else is around the back and Mum's in the kitchen cooking up enough food to feed the entire Ministry of Magic. She's been checking the clock every five seconds."
"Ron decided on an impromptu vacation," Harry told her. "Went to New Zealand."
"New Zealand? I hear it's lovely there this time of year," Ginny said matter-of-factly.
Ron threw his hands up in the air in despair and stalked toward the kitchen.
Dinner was quite the entertaining affair. Not only was there a fair deal to catch up on, but there was a fair deal of drama too.
Fred and George were running about and fulfilling every wish and whim of their respective other halves (so to speak). Meghan and Karina Weasley (formerly Taylor), dark haired, blue eyed fraternal twins and generally affable women, were both very pregnant and very hot and therefore somewhat cranky. A mix which certainly didn't bode well for their red-haired husbands. But being the easygoing pair that they were, Fred and George took everything in stride.
Fred was currently piling up a plate with an interesting assortment of diced tomatoes, segmented oranges, and (naturally) sliced pickles topped with gravy. Truth be told, he looked a little nauseated at the sight. George was picking through a salad and removing all the mushrooms (Karina was going through an awkward phase and threw up at the mere scent of mushrooms).
Charlie and Janna were attending to their two little girls, seven year old Sammi and three year old Maddi, who were earnestly intent on making mud pies and partaking in the taste tests too. Jenna was absently plucking the offending pies out of the girls' hands while chatting animatedly to Ginny and Charlie was just as absently patting their faces clean. Beside them, Mr Weasley was enthusiastically offering to show Neville his newly acquired Muggle game, Twister, later on in the evening.
At the far end of the table, Mrs Weasley was earnestly discussing possible seating arrangements with Fleur Delacour – soon to be Weasley – while her fiancé, Bill, just as earnestly discussed the current Quidditch season with Harry and Ron.
And Percy was stalking about the garden because his wand had unexpectedly turned into a rubber chicken. It was quite a pity that Fred and George were otherwise occupied or they could have observed the result of their handiwork with a great deal of amusement.
Hermione was simply content in soaking in the festive atmosphere.
She always enjoyed these little soirées at the Burrow. Here the outside world didn't matter. It was just one big happy family enjoying each other's company. She was a part of it, and so was Harry, despite not having any actual official familial ties. All the pain, all the happiness, everything they'd been through together meant they were joined for life.
Just like you can't save someone from a troll and not become the best of friends, you can't fight a Dark Lord together and not become family. Not that her mum and dad hadn't been a part of that struggle – they'd been there, every step of the way (in a supportive sense more than a literal sense) and she was more than grateful. They'd even met Harry on more than one occasion – and dropped ridiculous hints which, quite frankly, didn't seem all that ridiculous anymore.
And we're back to Harry, Hermione thought wryly. Why was it that every single thing in her life went right back to that messy haired, green eyed wizard? The very same wizard that had stolen her heart.
And the heart of half the female wizarding population, incidentally.
At school, most of the students had become enamoured with him by fourth year (incidentally boy and girl alike). Fifth year was touch and go seeing as most people thought he was nuts for most of the year. Sixth year … oh yes, that's when it all began to get a little psychotic.
Girls, girls, girls.
Harry couldn't take a step sideways in the corridors without encountering a breathless girl – Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, even the occasional Slytherin – eager for a date (to Hogsmead, the Great Hall, a broom closet, their bedroom – they really weren't too fussed). In Gryffindor Tower, it was even worse. At the end of the first term, the professors had to charm the staircase to the boys' dormitories with the same charm as that on the girls. For a few weeks afterward, that particular staircase was exceedingly dangerous, particularly during the early hours before dawn.
Oh yeah, so not only had she fallen for her best friend, but she'd also fallen for the one wizard that every witch wanted.
"Perfect," she muttered into her salad.
"Not really," Harry said suddenly, interrupting her melancholy thoughts. "It's a little wilted."
Hermione whipped her head around so fast she nearly got whiplash. She stared at Harry as she tried to ascertain what on earth he was talking about. Finally, she uttered a rather inarticulate, "What?"
Harry laughed. "Never mind," he said. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice and turned toward her. "What's wrong, Hermione? You've been awfully quiet this evening."
"Just thinking."
"Anything interesting?"
"Oh yeah," Hermione said unthinkingly, her tongue darting out to run across her upper lip.
Harry's eyes widened slightly in amusement and mild interest. "Really?" He leaned back in his chair and regarded her silently, one eyebrow raised. "Care to share?"
Hermione shrugged one shoulder, seemingly nonchalantly, but inside she was panicking up a storm. She could feel a flush staining her face. "Of course not," she replied flippantly. "A girl's gotta have some mystery."
Harry was silent for a long moment as he looked at her contemplatively. "Hermione," he said slowly. He bit his lip as though in deliberation. "I don't think you need to worry about that. You're one of the most mysterious girls I know."
His mouth curved in a slow smile. His green eyes sparkled mischievously.
Then he turned back to Bill.
It took Hermione a whole minute to recover from that smile. And those eyes.
Well, she decided rather laconically, she certainly wasn't going to get any sleep at all tonight.
But a part of her couldn't help wondering if maybe, just maybe –
Oh great, Hermione thought, cutting off her own rather preposterous thoughts. Now I'm delusional. What else?
What else indeed.
Hermione's earlier sentiments had proved correct. She hadn't gotten any sleep that night.
In fact, in light of all the very unnecessary mental trauma, she didn't think she'd be getting any sleep for the next several weeks.
It was just past four o'clock in the morning when she heard the first thump. Hermione, for whatever reason, had always been a light sleeper. The slightest noise was usually enough to wake her. This had not been a positive attribute to have seeing as her roommates were always excessively loud and, such was her luck, usually insomniacs to boot.
It took her a moment to adjust to her surroundings and, for a brief second, she didn't know where she was. Then her mind cleared and she remembered. She was still at the Burrow, in Ginny's room if her memory served.
After a successful dinner, in which all parties concerned arbitrarily stuffed themselves on Mrs Weasley's fabulous cooking, Mrs Weasley had happened to glace at her watch. And she let out a startled gasp. It was almost three in the morning and "goodness, I haven't even done the dishes yet!" She'd then proceeded to whip out her wand and order everyone to bed – regardless of whether they actually lived there or not.
Fred and George were particularly vehement in their arguments, declaring that they could take the next Portkey to Hogsmead. However, their arguments were rather swiftly overturned by the fact that Meghan and Karina had fallen asleep on the couch and the tiny inconvenience of the Portkey network being inoperational for at least another four hours (due to the hormonal changes in the body, pregnant witches were not allowed to Apparate or Disapparate cross country).
"You're all exhausted," she'd informed them sternly, waving her wand about in a rather scary manner. "I will not have you Apparating anywhere at this time of night … erm, morning."
Hermione was actually somewhat relieved; the day had been rather hectic and she was absolutely exhausted. Judging from the yawns and bleary eyed gazes on the people around her, not many were up for Disapparating anyway.
Knowing that arguments would be ultimately fruitless – Mrs Weasley was glaring around in her I-am-a-Mother-and-therefore-know-what-is-good-for-you look – all remaining guests tramped upstairs to the upper levels of the house. At first, Hermione had to wonder how Mrs Weasley was planning to accommodate so many people. While the Burrow had certainly been extended during the last several years, what with additions for the quickly expanding numbers – Weasley's, spouses, children and pets – it didn't seem to hold the capabilities to house everyone that was still there.
But Mr Weasley stepped in and, with a wave of his wand and a few muttered incantations, expanded the current living areas and added a few extra walls for privacy. By the time Mrs Weasley had finished with the dishes, everyone was firmly ensconced in bed.
Hermione was out the moment her head hit the pillow.
And she'd been asleep for less than an hour, for the love of Merlin. One bloody hour, and now, she was wide awake. The first thing she noticed was the stifling heat. The early hours of morning apparently did little to alleviate the extreme temperatures and it was possibly as hot now as it had been at noon the day before. A sideways glance showed that somebody had opened the window; the excessively warm breeze filtering inside was probably cancelling out Mr Weasley's Freezing Charms.
She had just pulled the window shut when she heard another thump, this time accompanied by subdued voices, and she quickly remembered what had awoken her in the first place.
Hermione swept her gaze around the room, trying to ascertain what was so … ah, that was it. Ginny's bed was empty. In fact, the patchwork quilt was barely rumpled and looked as though it hadn't even been slept in. Which was certainly strange seeing as Hermione distinctly remembered Ginny bouncing on the bed earlier in her pyjamas.
She yawned sleepily and, with a shrug, moved back toward the bed intent on going back to sleep, strange thuds and murmurings be damned. It was probably just one of the twins out to sate a craving for pickles and ice cream or something similar.
There was another thud followed by a muffled yell; Hermione tiptoed toward the door, her natural inquisitiveness taking complete control.
How much noise could a pickle make, anyway?
She cracked the door open a few centimetres and stuck her head around, peering up the hallway through the gloom. Years of breaking school rules in the dead of night had sharpened her sense somewhat and feeling awfully like a James Bond castaway, she crept down the carpeted hall, hearing every miniscule creak of the floorboards.
When she reached the stairs, she saw the glimmer of light coming from the direction of the kitchen. From the flickering quality of the light, she realised that it couldn't be wand light or the overhead lights.
She hurried down the stairs, incredibly curious at this point.
The kitchen door was ajar and the noises were definitely coming from there. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. For a moment there was silence and Hermione fully considered going back to bed, and then, she distinctly heard Ginny's frightened voice, loud and clear in the silence.
"Oh my god!"
Without a second thought, Hermione flung open the door, her hand going automatically to her back pocket for her wand.
It was at the point that Hermione realised several things.
One, she didn't have her wand. She had the distinct impression it was still upstairs on Ginny's bedside table. Two, there were candles floating about the kitchen, the flames flickering and dancing in the darkness. And three, Ginny had not cried out in fright – in fact, the petite red head appeared to be anything but frightened.
"Oh my god!" Hermione yelped, taking a startled step back.
Ginny was sitting (no, she was more reclining really, Hermione's analytical side said) on the kitchen table, with a very red faced Neville pressed up against her. They were both more or less clothed (less rather than more if Hermione were to be really precise) but there was still an awful lot of flesh showing. Flesh that Hermione really didn't want to be seeing.
"Merlin's beard!" Neville cried, almost falling off the table.
Ginny's face grew scarlet and she let out a strangled moan. Hermione couldn't be sure if it was because of the awkward circumstances or because Neville had shifted sideways. She didn't particularly want to find out, though.
She slapped her hand over her eyes and backed toward the door. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were – I thought that – I … I'm gonna go now."
Hermione whirled around, fully intent on leaving, and promptly slammed into an immovable wall. A strangely warm and smooth immovable wall. Thinking that she'd somewhat miscalculated her exit, she cracked open one eye and peeked through her fingers. It was a bare chest – and a rather attractive one at that, she couldn't help but notice.
"Oh my god," Neville said loudly; Hermione assumed it was because he'd spotted the new arrival.
"Woah," Harry whistled – he was the owner of said attractive chest that was currently impeding Hermione's progress out of the kitchen and away from this nightmare – peering over the top of her head at the couple.
"Oooh, that's been imprinted on my retina," Hermione moaned, all the fight having gone out of her, and unwittingly leaned her head against his chest. "Hello Harry."
"'Morning Hermione," he said, still not taking his eyes off the flushing couple on the kitchen table. After a while, he apparently came to his senses somewhat and grabbed Hermione's shoulders. "We'll just … ah, leave you to it." And as he prepared to turn them around –
– Everyone froze as the kitchen door swung open. Again. Hermione expected another rush of embarrassed exclamations, but there were none. Instead, there was complete silence.
Three sets of eyes turned to the newcomer. Hermione stood on tiptoe and peered over Harry's shoulder. Then she looked back at Neville and Ginny, who looked absolutely horrified (Neville actually looked ready to faint dead away and Hermione really couldn't blame him at this point).
Ron stood, framed in the doorway, a horrified look on his face. He paled, turned slightly green, and then finally settled on a rather alarming shade of crimson. He took a few steps into the kitchen and fixed Neville with a piercing glare. He held up a shaking hand and opened his mouth, clearly intent on giving the poor boy a piece of his mind. Several pieces in fact, judging by the look on his face. He floundered about wordlessly for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth, and then, with a hopeless look, shrugged. Clearly, words escaped him at this moment.
Hermione knew precisely how he felt.
"What is all that noise?"
The sound travelled clearly in the sudden silence, undoubtedly coming from somewhere near the first floor landing.
Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin.
Harry, still rooted to the spot, whipped his head around, eyes widening behind his glasses as footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Mrs Weasley!" he hissed. "Mr Weasley!"
More universal freezing in place.
"Oooh no …" Neville groaned. Hermione caught the distinct sound of a zip and a thump as Ginny and Neville hopped off the table.
Hermione heard Ginny swear softly, eloquently and, surprisingly, in several different languages.
"In the pantry, quick," Ron said suddenly, apparently having found his voice. Before anyone realised what was going on, he'd ushered Hermione, Harry and Ginny in through the pantry door. He clamped a hand around Neville's arm and hauled him inside too, closing the door just as the footsteps started down the last set of stairs.
Hermione blinked in the sudden dimness, confused. "Ron," she whispered. "Why are we in the pantry?"
In the dim light she caught his brief expression of bewilderment before he shrugged again and said grudgingly, "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
A good idea? Hermione found herself pressed between shelves, Neville, and a very tall, very shirtless Harry Potter. She was inclined to think that it was an exceptionally good idea regardless of the circumstances, as far as good ideas were, in light of this very fact. However, as far as any rational reason for the five of them being crammed in a pantry in this particular circumstance, she was quite without a clue.
"They won't look in here," Ron said finally. "After all, who would?"
Who indeed. Hermione didn't even try to rationalise that comment. She then remembered something that had caught her attention before. "Ginny," she said, turning around as best she could to face where she thought Ginny was. "I had no idea you spoke Gobbledygook."
Ginny, who in the gloom looked as though she was now attempting to button up her pyjama top, nodded. "Oh yes, I had to learn it for an interview. In-depth profile on a rather prolific Gringotts goblin. Had an affair with a banshee."
Hermione nodded, mildly interested. "I think I read that one."
"Shh!" Ron hissed. There was a distinct sound as the kitchen door swung open.
"I heard somebody down here. I'm sure of it." Mrs Weasley's voice floated into the kitchen. There was a moment of silence and then, "There's no one here, Arthur."
Mr Weasley's hushed voice soon joined his wife's. "Oh, somebody probably came down for a midnight snack and left the lights on."
"With candles, Arthur?"
"Dear, it's late. I'm sure it was just one of the twins. Meghan and Karina are experiencing frightful cravings at the moment. Fred and George have been magicking in exotic foods all day. In all likelihood one of them wanted a sandwich."
Mrs Weasley sighed. "I'm sure you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Mr Weasley said. After a beat, he said in a low voice, "But it is romantic, isn't it? And everyone's asleep, aren't they …?"
There was some shuffling and then, Mrs Weasley's muffled cry, "Oh, Arthur, you sly dog!"
"Oh," Ginny muttered. "I can't believe this!"
In the silence of the pantry, everything said in the kitchen was abundantly clear. More shuffling about, a few more stifled cries, the distinct rustling of clothes … If Hermione hadn't been enjoying such a close proximity to Harry, she probably would have gotten decidedly nauseous.
Did the entire household have to choose tonight of all nights to indulge their sexual urges?! Couldn't they have waited a night or two?
"Oh, Arthur!" Mrs Weasley said suddenly, breathlessly. "Not here."
"You're quite right, dear, the kitchen certainly isn't appropriate," Mr Weasley replied, also sounding rather breathless.
"Thank god," Harry whispered under his breath. He was standing right behind Hermione and, seeing as in the cramped confines of the pantry each person had a good two point four square centimetres to themselves, was thus very close. His breath ruffled her hair.
A tingle raced upper her spine. For whatever reason, Mr Weasley hadn't deemed it necessary to implement the cooling charms inside the pantry (one can only assume he'd never expected a party of five to be ensconced in there) and so it was already ridiculously hot in there. Hermione felt the temperature increase noticeably. She took a reflexive step backward.
And right into Harry.
His hands came up automatically, settling on her waist. "Steady," he whispered, leaning down slightly.
She couldn't do anything but nod mutely; there really wasn't any space to do anything else. And actual words were certainly out of the question seeing as they were all currently in a pantry and all, but Hermione felt that she probably wouldn't have been able to articulate anything anyway.
Her heart was beating incredibly fast. She almost passed out as his fingers moved slightly against her waist. In her befuddled state, she took a moment to wonder at the fact that he had yet to remove said hands. Perhaps –
"Upstairs, Arthur, come on …" Mrs Weasley said insistently, sounding very loud all of a sudden.
Mr Weasley apparently made no objections to this; there was another giddy giggle from Mrs Weasley and then a distinct click as the kitchen door finally slipped shut.
All present in the pantry let out a sigh of relief.
And then fell into a stunned silence. Strangely enough, nobody even considered leaving the pantry.
Ron looked too traumatised. Neville was very round eyed, his arm around an uncharacteristically silent and staring Ginny. And Hermione and Harry … well, Hermione decided that, should they have to remain right where they were, she certainly wasn't going to complain!
"Oh my god," Ron said finally in a strangled sort of voice. Hermione's eyes had adjusted to the dark and she noticed that Ron looked decidedly revolted. "Did they – did I – they just … Oh my god …" He buried his face in his hands (no mean feat considering their current position).
"I'm going to need a lot of therapy," Ginny said slowly. "A very lot. Lots and lots."
Neville's arm tightened around her shoulders. "Honey," he said, "at least they're your parents. How am I ever going to look at them ever again? What am I going to think about when you're being led down the aisle by your father?" He suddenly looked blatantly traumatised. "Oh my god."
"I was more than willing to believe in the stork," Ginny said mournfully, apparently not having heard a single thing. "Or even the enchanted cabbage patch!"
Hermione, momentarily distracted, looked up. "Cabbage patch? That's a Muggle story, too."
"Shh," Harry murmured, his face now very close to hers. His fingers were tracing distracted circles against her skin.
Hermione actually felt her insides turn to mush and, very unconsciously, relaxed against him.
At that point, the pantry door swung open. Hermione and Harry jerked apart, knocking into Neville as they did so. His hands hurriedly slid off her waist; Hermione felt her face heat up.
"Erm …" Fred, usually on hand with a suitable reply for any occasion, paused, hand on the doorknob, apparently speechless. His eyebrows rose until they were in danger of disappearing into his hair and he blinked.
"For Merlin's sake, Fred," George said, striding over to the pantry. "I asked for essence of Newt, not eggs …" He trailed off as he reached Fred's side. He blinked too.
Hermione could only imagine what they were thinking. It was the early hours of morning and their younger brother and sister, her fiancé, plus Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were in a pantry, blinking against the sudden light. Two sets of identical brown eyes whipped around to rest on the occupants of the pantry one at a time.
Ron's expression hovered somewhere between utter horror and revulsion. Neville's reaction did not fall far from this. Ginny looked decidedly nauseated. Harry was looking very distracted and slightly furtive. Hermione was flushing crimson. Fred and George shared a glance and then turned their gazes right back to the pantry.
"Taking a midnight stroll, I see," George said after a very long moment. His eyes flicked toward Ron and he said, "Pass me the peanut butter."
Now it was Ron's turn to blink. "What?"
"Peanut butter," George said, pointing to a location above Ron's left shoulder. "Goes great with banana and tomatoes, I hear." He looked pensive for a moment. "But considering what Karina's been eating lately, it probably goes great with Percy's meatloaf, too, and we all know how wonderful that is. Now, peanut butter, please."
Ron mutely reached up and passed him the peanut butter.
"And would you mind handing me that bar of chocolate, Harry," Fred said, gesturing at the shelf. "Meghan wants a sandwich."
Harry passed him the chocolate.
"Thank you," the twins said and, as one, nonchalantly shut the pantry door.
There was a full minute of silence before Ron looked around at everyone.
Hermione looked down at the floor and bit her lip. Her thoughts were racing around and around; she sighed as any lingering inclination to sleep stepped out the door and ran screaming down the street.
"Y'know," Ron said conversationally, momentarily breaking her concentration, before burying his head into his hands again. "I don't think I can take much more of this."
Hermione couldn't help but agree.
tbc …
Oh, and I added a disclaimer and spoiler warning to the Prologue. I won't bother putting one up on every single chapter cause honestly, if you don't realise that the characters do not belong to me, then you're probably a bit batty anyway.
Just for the record, I have absolutely nothing against New Zealand. It's a beautiful country and I'd love to go there one day – but I just couldn't resist. I'm not American so I'd feel wrong doing selfsame to the Canadians. Since I'm an Aussie, I settled for New Zealand :)