Disclaimer: I don't own HP or any of these characters.
That belongs to JKR, Scholastic Books, Warner Brothers, etc. The
idea of a charm that takes you to the place where you're most needed is
from the Xanth series, by Piers Anthony. As for the prairie oyster,
it's a disgusting hangover cure recommended by Spike of Cowboy Bebop.
Chapter Five : Vector
Being a methodical sort of girl, Hermione had been quick to assemble of list of rules to deal with living with Harry.
Rule number one was to always get to the shower first. Always. No exceptions. Foul play was allowed in this area, so long as she got there first. If he ever asked, she would claim that she always rushed to the shower because she was worried about the hot water running out. However, she knew the real reason was rule number two.
Rule number two was never, ever look at a wet Harry. Never. Not even if she had to gouge out her eyes to avoid the sight. That wasn't because he looked that horrible. On the contrary, she didn't think she could maintain her self control if she looked. A wet Harry was such an irresistible combination of cute and sexy . . . it was best not to think of him that way at all. All she had to do was remember: wet Harry bad.
Of course, that probably was not the best way to put that
Rule number three was to avoid a sleeping Harry. Harry, when asleep, looked so innocent and sad that it was hard for her not to comfort him. Sleeping Harry made her yearn to cuddle him and let him know that everything was going to be all right. It was ironic, but if she ever did that, it would probably scare him half to death. He would probably wind up wondering if she were herself or if he needed to put in a call to St Mungo's. Needless to say, avoiding a sleeping Harry was an important rule to follow.
Upon reviewing her first three rules, Hermione had then decided it might be best just to boil everything down to one simple rule: don't look, don't touch! That did seem to be the end result of all of them anyway. Granted there could be problems with not looking at Harry – he was sure to wonder what was wrong with her and if he had done anything to make her upset. On the other hand, it was almost certain to prevent any embarrassing incidents . . . at least until she accidentally looked at him and wound up embarrassing herself because her Harry tolerance was low. It was then she decided to give up upon adding to her list of rules.
At least until now. There was another candidate for a rule and it looked like it should be at the top of the list. Never, ever, ever get drunk while living with Harry. Because if you do, you just might wind up sleeping in his bed. Hermione quickly glanced around the room after she realized where she was. There was no mistake. She was definitely in his bed.
Though not with him, she thought. Damn. Don't know if I should be disappointed or relieved. On one hand, nothing else did happen between us last night . . . but that's the bad news too, isn't it? She sat up, pulling the sheets up to cover her. If he's not here . . . that must mean that he's on the couch. Damn his sense of chivalry. Doesn't he know by now that I can take care of myself, that I don't want a knight in shining armor? At the very least, I don't want him sleeping on the couch because I'd feel guilty . . . not to mentioned tempted to jump him every time I passed by. If he's in his room, I have no such temptation. Lazily, she looked at the clock.
Damn! She pushed the sheets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Time to get going, or else I'll screw up rules one and two today as well. Hermione stood up . . . or rather she tried to. Unfortunately, she was rather lacking in the coordination department this morning and no sooner did she stand, then did she fall back down again, landing hard against the floor.
"Ow!" she exclaimed. This is a fine mess I've got myself into. How am I going to get to the shower first if I can't even stand on my own two feet?
The answer to that question soon appeared before her eyes. There was a soft knock on the door, before the door opened, revealing Harry, already showered and dressed.
With wet wair. No, wet hair. Really adorable wet hair. Does that boy want to be jumped? Now that would be a headline. The Boy-Who-Lived scarred for life – again! – from glomp by female best friend. Oh, but I would die happy.
"Um . . . Hermione, are you all right? Do you have a hangover?" Harry asked, concern leaking through his voice.
If I did, you'd have cured it, she thought. But I shouldn't say that, should I? I wonder if I should act very incapacitated so he'll have to help me and I can – no! Bad Hermione! Don't think that way!
"Hermione? Are you okay? Can you answer me please?" He knelt down in front of her, peering into her eyes.
"Huh?" she asked blankly. Oh that's right. Stop staring at Harry. Get something for hangover before the headache to end all headaches starts. Or worse – you do glomp him in his bedroom. She turned red. Damn! Don't think like that, Hermione!
"I'm fine," she said. "Okay, not completely fine but fine as soon as I get a prairie oyster in me."
"I don't know how you can stand those things," he remarked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
Damn, he looks good when he does that. Okay, and that is it. I simply must spend the rest of the day away from him. "Could you help me up?" she asked. "I don't think I can make it into the kitchen on my own."
"I know you can't," Harry said wryly. "Though it's fine. There's no stairs to climb up like there were last night."
"Stairs?" she asked.
"You know, Hermione. The stairs leading up to the flat."
"Oh." Hermione stopped talking so she could concentrate on getting up with Harry's help. And without touching him more than necessary, she warned herself. Once upright, they started walking towards the kitchen. "Thanks for helping me out last night . . . and this morning," she said.
"Don't mention it," he replied. "Though I hope you don't make a habit of trying to out-drink me when we go out together. You drooled all over my shirt while I was carrying you home last night."
That's no surprise, I always drool over you. Hermione snorted at that thought.
"What was that for?" Harry asked.
"Oh . . . you say that as if you've never been drooled over by witches before," Hermione said, covering up her real thoughts.
"Ah . . . well . . . no comment." Harry flushed red. "Though I must say, I didn't expect you to snore."
"I do not snore!"
"Trust me, you do. Sounded like a little pig, you did."
"Harry!"
"What do you want me to do? Lie?"
"Yes! I mean no! Argh!" Hermione considered getting up to pound on him, but thought the better of it Besides, pound . . . don't want to think like that, Hermione. But I do have to do something about that remark . . . fortunately, he's in kicking distance. She settled for kicking viciously at his ankle.
"Ouch!" Harry backed away from her. "What was that for?"
"You know what it was for! I do not snore!"
"If you prefer to believe that . . ."
"That's not funny."
"It's not? By the way, still need a hand up?" He gallantly offered a hand to her. Glaring, she accepted it, and he hoisted her up. "You've been putting on some weight, haven't you?" he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Erm . . . I said that you must have been—"
"Putting on some weight?"
"Gah! No, of course not!"
"Okay, that makes me feel better. If you'd lie about what you just said, you'd lie about me snoring last night."
"That wasn't a lie."
"You know this is the first time I've ever seen a bloke insert both his feet into his mouth at the same time."
Harry looked sternly at her. "The correct term for my earlier comment regarding snoring is that I was teasing you, Granger. Or is that no longer allowed?"
"I don't recall that ever being allowed."
"Like tickling?"
"Don't you dare!"
"You know I would dare."
"Not right now, you won't. Not unless you want to see my dinner again. And it would really be on you."
Harry made a face. "Good point. So, want your usual hangover cure?"
Hermione sighed. "Nothing works better. Though it tastes awful."
"I don't know how you stand those things myself." He carefully led Hermione over to the sofa, making sure not to jar her – or her stomach – in any way. "One prairie oyster, coming right up." He scurried off to the kitchen, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.
Most of which were very naughty thoughts.
Okay, stop that. Now! Hermione quickly shook her head, and then regretted it. Ouch. Okay, that was a bad idea when you've got a hangover that's starting to kick in. I hope Harry hurries up with that prairie oyster. She sighed. But he really looks too good for this early in the morning. I'm just surprised that he's not wearing a sign that says . . . okay, very bad thought there, must not think it . . . too late. I have got to get out of the house today . . . but how? I'd rather be shopping, but I don't like shopping by myself and Harry knows that and so that won't work. I could go to the library I suppose . . . no, definitely not, I'd keep thinking of the stacks and what would be fun . . . next idea, Hermione. Oh, I know! I'll visit my parents! No better way to crush anyone's libido by a quick visit home to mum and dad. She smiled as she leaned back into the sofa. So that's settled. Once I get ready, it's off to visit home.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Though it was hard to believe, Hermione had somehow managed to forget one very important rule: never look at Harry when he wants something from her. When that happened, he was certain to do this puppy dog look (which she suspected to be artful) that made it very hard for her to think things through and say no.
To be completely honest, she had never been able to start thinking when she saw that look at all. She had always just nodded and said yes – though half the time, she regretted it. Sort of like how she was regretting saying yes when Harry had asked to tag along with her when she went home. Hermione wasn't certain why he had wanted to come along. She suspected that it was because he (and most likely Ron) thought that things were tense between her and her parents. Of course, she reflected to herself, it could be because he's tired of eating out or cooking himself. That means Dad has to cook for one more, which won't make him happy . . . not that he was happy to see Harry to begin with. Hermione sighed. Oh well. Harry never did have much of a sense of self-preservation. If he makes it out tonight, it'll be a miracle. Especially after Dad asked for help in the kitchen. Hermione stopped that train of thought and tried to distract herself by paying attention to what her mother was saying.
"Though he does look to be a very nice boy," her mum said. "But even so, I do worry about you living alone with him."
"Oh Mum," Hermione said. "I'm fine. I've known Harry for how long now? We're good friends, we've been through a lot together, and there isn't anyone who I trust more."
"Really?" Her mum raised her eyebrows. "Friends, you say? That must be your new slang. In my day, we called it—"
"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed. "We are simply friends – good friends. Is that so hard to believe?"
"But it is a one bedroom flat, is it not?"
"Yes."
"So where do you sleep?" Mrs Granger asked pointedly.
"In the living room," Hermione replied succinctly.
"You can't expect me to believe that."
"It's the truth."
"But I've seen how you look at him. And how he looks at you. Oh, I'd wish you'd just tell me the truth. Your dad would go easier on him if you two were just out in the open, rather than pretending as if there's nothing there."
"But there is nothing between us." Or rather, I wish, she thought suddenly. Gah! Bad thought, bad thought! And at my parents' house! How . . . ick!
Her mother directed a stern look at her. "I'm not going to ask what you mean by that, as I probably do not want to know."
"Mum!"
"If you don't want to tell your father and I about you two yet . . . well, I can't say I understand as you know we'd be supporting. And I hope you know I always thought Harry was a better match for you than Ron – at least that boy knows how to cook as I'm afraid you inherited my ability to cook—"
"Or rather lack thereof," Hermione interjected.
"Yes, yes," her mother agreed. "I can't cook, and neither can you. But what I'm trying to say is . . . that what really matters is that you're happy, and if you're happy, neither of us would complain – and so I don't see why you feel like you have to conceal your relationship from us."
"I'm not concealing anything, Mum. We are just good friends."
"And you never thought of him as anything more?"
Hermione blushed. "I . . . well, that is to say . . . I mean that . . . erm . . ."
"Say yes, dear, rather than trying to fool yourself like that. Because you're not fooling me. So if you feel that way about him, why aren't you together? Because it's bloody obvious that he's mad about you."
"It's not like that. We've been together for so long, that it's only natural for us to occasionally have such thoughts . . . but they don't mean anything at all, in the end."
"Believe that if it gives you comfort." Mrs Granger sighed and
looked away from her daughter. "Though I disagree. In the end,
I think, you'll regret it if you leave it as it is and never take a risk.
Because if nothing else happens, it's better to know than to always wonder."
Author's note: Well, this one is out faster than the last -- let's hope I continue to improve, ne? Anyway thanks to everyone who has reviewed the previous chapters. I really do appreciate it. And if you could take a bit of time to let me know what you thought of this chapter, that would be great. ^_^