Shades of Grey

By Destiny's Darkness

Disclaimer: You'll note that when I posted the last chapter, I owned nothing. Isn't it sad how that hasn't changed?

Author's note: Don't worry, I'll make this quick. Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I really hope you'll keep doing so. Thanks for the correcting my spelling of Hermione- didn't realize I was doing that. And by the wayI might surprise you. I'm not entirely sure that I'm going to pair Hermione with Harry…

Chapter Two

London was dreary the day they arrived home, as much as Hermione enjoyed the rain and cold. She forgot to be excited as she stared out the train window. The guys had disappeared to double-check the luggage for the fourth time, forbidding anything to delay the beginning of their three weeks of freedom. Lupin told them he was planning to check up on them on a frequent basis—he wasn't dumb enough to stay in the house with three teenagers—but he was also planning on "checking up" on the pretty werewolf he'd managed to meet during the Second Wizard's War, those eighteen days that it lasted. There was a bet on which household was more likely to be forgotten; apparently this lady wolf was also an extremely gorgeous witch. Privately, Hermione believed it would be a miracle if he visited more than four times.

"Hermione, get up. Let's go," a certain redhead hollered from just outside the compartment.

"Ron, the train hasn't even stopped yet. And quit freaking out it's quite the turn-off."

His head had gotten far enough into the doorway for Hermione to see his jaw drop. "Did you just make a joke about my sexual prowess?"

"Of course not," Harry interrupted smoothly, squeezing past Ron to take the seat across from Hermione. "After all, that implies you have sexual prowess."

Ron opened his mouth to reply, instead turning suddenly to Hermione. "If that's—"

"No," she interrupted, "I was not previously turned on or attracted to you." She stared evenly into his glare. And fell into his lap when the train suddenly jerked to a stop.

"All right!" Ron hollered as he yanked the flailing girl to her feet. "You okay? Good. Can you believe it? Three weeks! Three weeks of freedom, of no chaperones, no chores, no worries!"

Green and brown eyes rolled in unison. "Ron, we have responsibilities over break. You do realize that, don't you? The food isn't going to buy itself."

"Or cook itself," Hermione added, not quite amused by Ron's shock at the very idea. "I may be the only female, but I am most certainly not going to be the only one doing the chores."

"You'll cook though, right?"

"Ron, I don't cook."

"I do." Harry's voice surprised the two, who were steadily approaching a screaming match. "The Dursley's tried to make me cook for them before Dudley got shoved on his diet. I'm no four-star chef, but I don't burn the toast. So I can cook."

Ron's relief was evident. "Thanks, mate. You really don't want me to cook."

Neither looked particularly surprised at the announcement.

"I mean, I—"

"Forget it, we understand," Hermione interrupted, failing in her best attempt not to roll her eyes. "But wasn't it you who was so anxious to get off of the train? Let's go. We've a long day ahead of us and personally, I'm not so sure where Lupin's house is."

"I know where it is," Harry grunted as he tried to lower her trunk from the overhead rack. "I stayed there right before Voldermort attacked. Lupin doesn't stay there very often, it's too big for a single guy after all, so don't expect much in the way of clean or organized or whatever." Finally, the trunk gave way and landed on the green-eyed boy's foot. "Damn, Hermione, what all do you have in here? Trees? Trolls? The library?"

"All of the above. Can we get off the train?" Ron, of course, was impervious to Hermione's annoyance at his answer. "Time hasn't exactly stopped, after all."

"On to Lupin's," Harry chuckled. "And on to winter break."

They found Lupin's house in under twelve minutes, much to Hermione's surprise. Located in the area of London known for its clubs and bars, it could have been in a suburban neighborhood—though Harry had been generous when he warned them not to expect a well-cared-for home. The blue paint peeled from the shutters with the speed of a falling spacecraft. They looked at the front hallway for a few minutes, just stood there and looked while Harry found a safe space for the key Lupin gave them. The inside was less depressing than the outside. Despite the not-so-fine layer of dust coating every surface, Lupin's house was a great deal cleaner than the outside, or knowledge of the owner, had led them to believe.

"I'm not much for cleaning," Ron read from their old professor's note, " but I'm sure Hermione knows the perfect spell to get this place into tip-top shape. No parties, no drugs, and I'd say no visitors of the opposite sex, but I remember my teenage years far too well – and recollect it mostly in a variety of female forms – to expect that. Take care of the boys, Hermione, I know that I can depend on you to make sure they don't get in trouble. See you all in a couple of days." He looked up in annoyance. "How come Hermione is always responsible for our behavior?"

"Really…" she added dryly, wandering down the hallway. "This room's mine."

Harry peeked in behind her. He grimaced at the dirty furniture, but there was nothing particularly special about it. "Why?"

"It's separate from the other bedrooms. I really don't need to be privy to all of your business over break. Not that kind of business anyway. Excuse me." She moved past him to look over the other rooms. "And I don't particularly fancy the idea of one of your visitors stumbling into my room on accident."

"Visitors." Harry spat out the word in shock, short and quick.

"Please. I hardly believe you and Ron were panting to get here so I could take you on a fascinating tour of London's museums and historical landmarks. I'm a bookworm, Harry, not an idiot."

He watched the girl wander down the hallway before he remembered to shut his gaping mouth. Well, sure, he and Ron expected to get acquainted with the London night life, but as to, well, sex… he really wasn't planning on it. Hermione's voice echoed through his head. She'd sounded so calm, confident; her words even and flowing with acceptance. Interesting, Hermione seemed fine with the idea of living three weeks under the same roof as two boys exploring the fun of moral debauchery. He wondered what Ron would say.

The said teenager had picked his room as well. Harry found him beating the bed with a rug. Clouds of dust rose into the air in vast, oppressive concentrations before being sucked out of the room by the open window. "What are you doing?" Harry chuckled.

"Just getting some of the grime out."

"Did you ever consider just washing the sheets?"

"Nonsense. The sheets aren't that dirty. Plus Hermione isn't going to do it for me, and I don't think I can. They'll do for now."

"No girl is going to climb in that bed, Ron. Not one you'd want in there anyway."

Ron grinned. "Who's to say that I don't like those kind of girls? And do you really think that I could sneak them past Hermione?"

"I'd say you don't like those kind of girls, and I think Hermione may be on drugs."

The redhead tripped over his feet. "Excuse me? I think I've got dust in my ears."

"No doubt. But I was just talking to Hermione, and she told me that she just didn't want anyone confusing our rooms. Those were her exact words, by the way."

"My exact words were that I didn't want one of your visitors stumbling into my room, but I suppose that's close enough."

The two boys turned to the doorway, and Hermione rolled her eyes at their identical guilty expressions.

As she walked to their sides, she waved a hand in front of her face in an attempt to clear the air before continuing. "You two are going to the store, just to let you know. The kitchen is completely empty. Do you need a list, or can you just grab what you want?"

"We'll just get what we see," Ron decided. He paused a moment longer. "Is there anything in particular that you want?"

"No, not really."

"Then why would we need a list?"

Her quick snort of laughter failed to answer Ron's question. "My dad. He can't go to the store to pick up milk without a list. He ends up coming home with two dozen roses and no milk."

Harry smirked. "Your mom probably doesn't mind the flowers."

"That's what he says. But roses don't go down easily. Thorns make drinking difficult." She shook her head with amusement, nearly lost in the memory of her father's escapades. "Anyway, it's nearly seven, so I'd go ahead and get the food."

"Okay, sure," Harry replied, already en route to his wallet. "I think we passed a supermarket on the way here, just a couple of blocks away, and the rain's stopped. Any reason we couldn't walk?"

"Only if you buy twelve bags of groceries. Though I'd like to see the famous Harry Potter struggle with that."

"Wait," Ron interrupted, "are we talking about a muggle store?"

"Their food isn't much different. Won't kill you by any means." Harry absolutely refused to laugh at Ron's expression.

"Are you kidding me?" Ron yelped in excitement. "You know my dad. He's going to bust something when he finds out."

"You have to promise to act normal," Hermione warned. "Don't stare or point or anything."

"Don't worry, I said my dad would bust something. I'm not my dad."

He regretted those easy, confident words as he and Harry wandered the aisles. Everything seemed alien and strange under the florescent lights. The artificial beeps and buzzers of the computer registers made him jump. And the large variety of goods nearly gave the sheltered wizard-boy a heart attack.

"How do Muggles come up with all this stuff?" he whispered as he stared at the box of juice-filled gummy snacks Harry grabbed. "I mean, are there people who just sit around and come up with this?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, yes, there are."

Ron didn't appear to believe Harry. "And what's this?" he asked, holding up a square of plastic.

"It's a compact disc, a C.D. Well, the case for one, anyway. Throw it in the basket; I don't have that one yet."

"What's it for?" Ron asked as he dropped the square.

"Music. You know, like the radio."

"Oh, right. And this?"

"Flashlight."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"It produces a light."

By the time Harry had picked up the basic necessities, he'd come to the conclusion that Ron had asked every conceivable question about supermarkets. And once they reached the check-out counter, he discovered he was wrong. The girl running the register ignored the redhead's stares, his questions that started as whispers but failed to stay as such, his random examination of the steps of the check-out process. He stopped her repeatedly to watch the laser scan the bar-code and asked random questions about the basics of the Muggle money system. Yet, the only emotion the cashier showed was amusement at Harry's embarrassment.

"Have a nice night," she offered automatically as she handed Ron the ninth and final plastic bag.

"You too," Ron replied, smiling and turning away. "Oh, wow!" he exclaimed as he half-jogged to the vending machine that caught his attention. "Look at this thing. What does it do?"

"Sorry," Harry muttered at the girl's expression. "First time in a grocery store." At her amused laugh, he couldn't help but wince at the truth of the statement.

"Thanks, pal," Ron joked as they left, juggling the bags between his hands. Night had started to fall during their adventure in the supermarket. Lines of people began to appear at the entrances to clubs and bars, all of which had loud music pouring into the streets. Ron grinned, Harry noticed, at the same time he felt his own mouth curve into a smile.

"It's gonna be a blast, isn't it?" Harry admitted aloud.

"You better believe it is."

"Don't you think it's weird, though? How different she's acting? I mean, not only did she tell us that we could get laid without bothering her, she talked to us about sex."

"Hermione, you mean? Like a regular teenager, I know." Ron opened his mouth to continue, but paused a moment. "You're right, about her acting different the past couple days. Especially toward you."

"Toward me?"

Ron barely noticed the surprise in his friend's voice as he lifted his shoulders in a quick, casual shrug. "She's treating you like a normal friend again."

"As opposed to?"

"You know, a crush."

Harry's jaw dropped for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "A crush. Ron, where did you get such a stupid idea?"

"Ginny. You know how Hermione talks to her, tells her everything." Ron's eyes spun from watching the busy street to stare at Harry. "You knew, didn't you?"

Mute, Harry could only shake his head slowly.

"God. Don't tell her I told you, all right? That's all I need, Hermione coming after me."

A nod.

"Thanks, mate. So really, you didn't know? You couldn't tell? Honestly, I couldn't either. Ginny said something to me about it. Apparently Hermione's even been really obvious about it, too, but no one noticed because everyone thinks of her as a bookworm."

"I bet that pisses her off," Harry remarked, still in shock. Ron's eyebrows rose just the faintest amount at the slight hoarseness in his friend's voice.

"Yeah, I think that's what her hissy fit was the other day." Ron shrugged his shoulders. "It makes sense. We all know you can't tell Lavender anything you wouldn't want published in Witches' Weekly. And she bought that story about the new Potions professor—hook, line, and sinker."

"So did we," Harry muttered.

"Well, we heard it from Lavender. Remember the way she described it? Like she was sitting in the room with Hermione the whole time. And Hermione was smart enough to make her story sound reasonable, something she might do." Suddenly, Ron stopped. Harry looked at him in confusion, unaware that they were once more before Lupin's house. "So do you like her, Harry? I mean, that's the important thing."

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I've never thought of her that way."

Ron grinned. "That's what I thought. Well, it doesn't matter now, since she's moved on." He grabbed the doorknob, balanced himself, then yanked hard enough to open the door without knocking himself over.

The boys entered. And gasped.

The floors. The walls. Tables. The knickknacks on the tables.

All clean. Somehow, Hermione had cleaned the entire house while the boys had been on their two-hour shopping spree.

"Hermione?" Ron bellowed into the depths of the building. She walked out of his room, dressed in an old t-shirt Harry had given her, the sleeves rolled up to just above her elbows, and sweatpants Ron had been more than happy to donate to her. Her hair struggled to be free of the two French braids flowing down her back, and her face was coated with streaks of grime. Neither Harry or Ron had ever seen her look sexier.

There was something different about her, something cleaning had brought out. She was taller, slimmer, undoubtedly to the lack of books weighing her down. Even her posture was relaxed and easy-going.

"Did you need something?" she interrupted their study. "Or are you just fond of randomly shouting my name?"

"What happened to the house?" Harry really couldn't help the tension in his voice.

"I burned it to the ground. What does it look like?" Hermione refused, absolutely refused, to blush under their scrutiny. "Ron, your old sheets are drying, but the ones on your bed should do. Harry, your bed is done."

Ron groaned, "I was hoping my sheets would, I don't know, magically become clean."

She clarified. "There are clean sheets on your bed, Ron; the ones drying were the ones that were on your bed. I've washed everything in this house. Dishes. Sheets. Silverware. Walls. Everything." She twitched in mock horror.

"You've been busy," Ron murmured. His wide eyes showed off his daze. "Thank you." Harry nodded his thanks as well.

"So what's for dinner?" she asked, trying to brush some of the grime from her face and only transferring more from her hands. Harry and Ron grinned, looked quickly at each other, and pulled Hermione into the now-clean kitchen. Ron deposited the girl into a chair while Harry wet a paper towel, knelt in front of Hermione, and gently began to clean her face for her. She submitted to their attentions for a few short minutes before drawing back from Harry's hand. "All right, what is it?"

"We were thinking," Ron's voice was apprehensive, "that instead of just staying in on our first night, unchaperoned, in London, we'd go clubbing."

Harry took over. "We know it's not your thing, but I swear it'll be fun."

The brunette looked at each of their pleading faces. Ron's teeth had captured his bottom lip, gnawing unknowingly. She sighed. "You go. I'm really tired, but maybe I'll go with you some other night."

They broke into grins again.

"Thanks, Hermione. We're just going to grab showers and head out, all right? Don't stay up."

Each planted a kiss on her cheek and dashed through the kitchen door to get ready for their first big night-on-the-town. Hermione rolled her eyes as she picked up the towel that had been unceremoniously dumped on the table beside her. She took her time carefully rubbing off the dust and dirt from her arms before starting on her neck and face. The boys were true to their word, finishing their showers and getting ready in less than a half-hour.

"Are you sure you don't want to go, 'Moine?" Ron repeated before they left. She reassured them that she was exhausted, couldn't take it really, maybe another time after she'd caught up on her sleep, but really, have fun anyway. Both kissed her cheeks once more and left the room. She giggled quietly again, getting up with every intention of putting up the groceries the boys had forgotten in their excitement. She stood in the hallway, about to fill her hands with the first two bags, when she heard Ron's voice come through the cracked open door.

"…really feel bad about leaving her, even if she did come to baby-sit us."

"Hermione wouldn't be comfortable in a club," Harry replied. "She's not that kind of girl, the kind who parties without freaking out about possible consequences. The kind who parties. She's the stay-at-home type, and we both know it."

Ron chuckled, and Hermione found herself pressing an ear to the door in an attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation as they made their way to the street. " Well, she's more the mothering type, in my opinion. Good thing she got over you, huh? I just can't imagine you with a girl like Hermio…"

Their voices faded as Hermione attempted to retrieve her own dropped jaw. They knew? Those assholes knew I was half in love with Harry, and they just let me suffer? How dare they judge me! They don't even know me! Ignoring the tiny voice that whispered that particular detail was her fault, she continued on her silent tirade. Who are they to judge me? Ron couldn't fend for himself in a full service gas station, and Harry? After all his solemn oaths and promises, did he even have the courage to face Voldermort? No. If it wasn't for Neville— She cut off her thoughts with a scream of frustration. Staring at her violently shaking hands, Hermione came to a decision. There was only one person who could calm her down when she was like this.

She stalked to her bags, yanking her cell phone from her purse with unnecessary force. She hit the first speed-dial setting, waited for an answer from the other end.

"Babe? It's me. Yeah, yeah, I'm back for holidays. Listen, are you free tonight?"

Yeah, I know, I know, it's been forever since I updated. But I've finally fixed part of my plot, and have most of a chapter way down the road written, so there should be less of that whole "writer's block" thing. Chapter 3 is almost done, so see you soon!