"Dating is for prats," she grumbled, speaking to no one in particular.

Hermione Granger plopped herself down on the big, yellow sofa in her small two-bedroom apartment in Devon, located in the south west of England. It has been a little over 8 months since she moved into the new, cozy space with her roommate after graduating together from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was currently employed full time at the Ministry of Magic (Department of Magical Law Enforcement), under the care of the new Minister, Arthur Weasley. Her best friend, Ron Weasley, was employed there as well (he was Head of Dept. of Magical Games and Sports.) They met for lunch quite often; sometimes he brought along his girlfriend, Lisa Turpin, a former Ravenclaw from their year who was now in training as Chaser for the Chudley Cannons.

She sighed and sank deeper into her soft leather seat, too exhausted to even remove her trench coat or purse. The evening turned out to be what felt like the longest night of her entire life…

...His name was Eric and he was the assistant editor for the newest edition of Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles They met last week at a very trendy French Bistro Café (she was dining with Ginny Weasley while he was having a business dinner with a publisher at the table right beside them.) The waiter mistakenly brought her his swordfish while he ended up with her filet mignon. They shared a small laugh as they exchanged their dishes across the table and after a few flirtatious glances and smiles, ended up exchanging names and phone numbers as well.

He phoned her promptly the next day and she agreed to meet him for dinner the following weekend. He seemed intelligent, kind and if she remembered correctly, was dashingly handsome. She felt butterflies in her stomach as she hung up the receiver. It was her first date in a very long time and she had a terribly good feeling that this was going to be absolutely wonderful…

…Hermione's head slowly returned to the present, realizing that her leather purse was painfully digging into her side. She clicked her tongue in annoyance as she yanked it off her shoulder and tossed it on the table in front of her. It fell with a thud. She sighed again louder. How could she have been so wrong about him? Were all men complete gits?

"You're home early," Harry Potter emerged from the back room and flashed her a smile.

"I thought tonight was your big date with what's-his-name."

He had apparently just gotten out of the shower. Dressed in white cotton t-shirt and a pair of dark green pajama trousers, he carried a light blue bath towel around his neck. His jet-black hair was still slightly damp.

Hermione groaned. She wasn't in the mood to talk about it.

Harry continued to dry his hair as he placed himself right beside her on the sofa. He nudged her arm lightly and she could feel his eyes watching her. The warmth of his body from the hot shower and fresh scent of soap overcame her senses and she suddenly felt very relaxed.

"That bad, huh?" Harry asked, wincing his emerald green eyes as if in pain.

Hermione yawned softly and rested her head on his shoulder. It was wet. She closed her eyes for a brief moment then opened them before speaking in a very flat voice. "He spoke of his ex-girlfriend for over an hour, insisted that house-elves were good-for-nothing prats, that Mr. Weasley was absolutely the worst thing to ever happen to the Ministry of Magic…oh, and he kept staring at my chest when he thought I wasn't looking."

Harry let out a whistle. "Sounds like a total git."

Hermione nodded.

Harry smiled sympathetically and added, "Sorry 'mione. I know you were looking forward to this."

Hermione didn't look up but smiled and closed her eyes again. "Thanks Harry…I-"

"So did his ex-girlfriend sound pretty?" Harry asked curiously.

Hermione's eyes snapped open and her head sprang up from his broad shoulder. She shot a deadly look at him and demanded, "And what does that have to do with ANYTHING? That is so NOT the point! How could you even ask-" Her eyes filled with tears as she bit down on her trembling lips.

"Hermione I-th-that was-I'm sorry, that was a bloody joke!" Harry blurted out, shocked by her reaction. He instantly wrapped both his arms around her and held her tight. He had expected her to laugh or playfully punch his arm, which she often did when he said something stupid. He had not, in the least bit, predicted this.

"I'm sorry 'mione. Shhh, it's ok. It's ok. I'm sorry," Harry whispered, as he held her frail body and rocked it back and forth. "I'm so sorry. I was just, I mean- I wanted to make you laugh. I was trying to be funny. I didn't know-I mean, I didn't think…" Harry was at a loss with words. He sighed. "I'm such a git."

Hermione violently shook her head buried deeply in his chest. She took a deep breath as she clasped her hands around his arms and slowly pulled herself up from his embrace. She hiccupped.

Her eyes were red and a smear of dark mascara ran down her moist cheeks and her hair was more disheveled than usual. Yet, strangely, she was the prettiest Harry had ever seen her. He pulled up the bottom of his white t-shirt, baring his flat stomach and gently wiped her face. Hermione let out a chuckle, seeming embarrassed. Harry smiled back as he tenderly stroked the apple of her cheek with his shirt. As he did this, the side of his hand lightly caressed her bottom lip. Their eyes met for an instant before he hastily looked away. He lowered his arm and let go of his now mascara-smudged shirt.

She hiccupped again, this time much louder and the two broke out in a tender chuckle.

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry. Crying over a silly date," Hermione let out still giggling. She rolled her eyes at herself. "Silly, really. I'm just a silly girl. Oh, my face! It must be a mess! I'm-Let me go wash up real quick. Do you mind pouring me a cuppa?" she asked quickly, not knowing why she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye.

"Um..of course. No problem," Harry replied, watching her get up. He then stood up with her and clumsily took hold of her arm. She stood still and looked up only to meet his chin. She raised her eyebrows as if silently asking, "Yes?"

"Really, I'm sorry. It was a stupid joke. And you're not silly. You're great, Hermione. Real great," he said quickly. He felt his face flush and suddenly realized they were standing awfully close. He let go of her arm and scratched his head.

"Right, so let me get you that tea," he said softly and with that, turned around and made his way toward their kitchen.

Hermione's gaze followed Harry as he walked away her. She gently touched the spot on her left arm where his hand had been a short moment ago. For a reason she couldn't quite understand, she felt a twinge of disappointment as the warmth of the contact slowly cooled off and the scent of fresh soap from his body gradually faded in the air.

THE END