Going Hot

"Hey Hermione," I drawled, flipping my legs over the arm of her chair to face her as she wrestled with the bodice of her wedding dress. She looked up from her struggles, slightly pink in the face. I took that as license to continue. "Want to go shop for lingerie?"

"S-Sorry?" She sputtered, dropping the bodice entirely. "What?"

"I need to buy lingerie. So do you, if I'm not mistaken." I trailed off, winking broadly. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on. I don't want to go alone." She shook her head, smiling at me.

"When do you want to go shopping?" She asked, flipping a curl out of her eyes with a little annoyance.

"How's now suit you?" I drawled.

"If you'd…" she paused to yank fiercely at her gown, "help me out of this thing."

"Let me at it," I agreed, shooting up from the chair. Byron briefly looked up from his lounging place near the fire. I set Hermione to work holding her hair up, and swiftly released her from the elaborate fasteners of the wedding dress. "It looks pretty well fitted now, you know?" I mused.

"It should be," Hermione said. "I've been in that dress shop so many times…"

"Now, now," I teased, "we all only want the best for our favorite professor."

"Your favorite professor only wants to see the end of this." She groused.

"Get dressed, girl, time's a wasting," I ordered. Moments later Hermione emerged in a sweater and slacks, ready for a foray into the girliest, most floral place Hogsmeade had to offer. We walked happily down the village street chattering about Hermione's nearly completed wedding plans. They were going to be married in the presence of their closest friends on the Hogwarts grounds, in a garden being prepared by Neville. They'd have only a minimal wedding party, and a large reception. While it was all grand in the final plans, it had been a trial to arrange. Two celebrities getting married meant lots of nosy press, and lots of profiteering shop owners. But Hermione was very, very happy.

"Here we are, then." She said as we came to a stop before a pink-fronted shop.

"No turning back now." I muttered. I stepped forward and gave the door a shove. I was here for entirely different reasons than Hermione was. Far from being a fiancée, I was a future model for PlayWizard. I'd come to see what I was likely to be up against—yes, I'd come to think of frilly underwear as a foe—during the shoot next week. The fewer unknowns the better, I figured.

We split up on entering the shop. Hermione headed toward a section full of reasonably tasteful, though primarily black, negligees. I scanned the room for the section with the least fabric per garment. All right, Arthur. This is what you're here for.

In the meeting with Tonks and Harry I'd seen a demonstration of the disappearing film. Tonks had also shown me the morph she'd use as the photographer. I felt reasonably confident that nothing horrible would come of it. But there just wasn't any way around the fact that I'd be wearing tiny underwear in front of Tonks and whoever else PlayWizard decided they wanted to have around. I bit my lip just thinking about it. As I mulled I made my way through a rack of improbable bras.

"Are you looking for something special, dear?" The woman's voice startled me. I turned to her, my hand on my chest. "Sorry dear, I didn't mean to surprise you." A witch with iron hair and a yellow measuring tape around her neck smiled at me from behind thick glasses. I slapped a smile on my face.

"That's all right. I was wool-gathering." I reassured her.

"Have you bought from us before, dear?" She pressed. Oh how I did not want to be helped. Argh.

"Um, no, I haven't," I began.

"Well. I'll just take your measurements and we'll see what works best for your shape," she cooed. My shape? Good heavens. No wonder I always bought muggle underwear.

"Ah—okay." I caved, more curious than anything. What if they did this at PlayWizard? I didn't want to seem like a complete idiot.

"Just follow me, dear." She bustled off toward a row of curtained booths. I rushed to keep up. Once there we started an uncomfortable process of measurements from a magical tape with no sense of personal boundaries. I might've imploded from the awkwardness if she hadn't kept up a steady stream of anecdotes about her years as a swinging single. As it was, I was busy fighting off the mental images and couldn't worry about the tape gripping my upper thighs. At long last she returned the tape to her neck. "Just stay here, dear; I have just the thing." She hurried off into the store, leaving me standing in my skivvies on a podium. Well, Arthur. You've got to learn to handle this.

She came back with an armload, no, a mountain of scandalous underthings. I was impressed. I was awed. I was extremely nervous.

"Let's just get this in place, shall we?" She chirped. With a wave of her wand, my own underwear was replaced with a set of black lace knickers and a scant bra. I rotated toward a non-magical—thank heaven—mirror and realized as I moved that the knickers were in fact a thong. Oh my. "No, no…" she declared, waving her wand again. The set was replaced with a yellow set that appeared to have a small skirt of lace around the band of the thong. I was mortified.

"This isn't really…" I began.

"It certainly isn't," she chuckled. The next option was in scarlet satin. "Oh that's better," she declared. "Yes, the deeper tones are better. Though the black was good…" She popped another black lace set onto me. This one had boning in the bra. Not too bad, if I did say so myself.

"Won't those show?" I asked, running my fingers across the boning.

"Oh no, no." She assured me. "At least, they won't show unless you choose to show someone." She winked at me. I forced a smile onto my face and willed down the blush that wanted to come. "Those are the ones, aren't they?" She asked.

"I think they are." I agreed, thinking I was doing so just to get out of there but knowing I really wanted the fancy underwear, and the lace, and the idea I was pretty. Too bad I know that's something you can't pay for.

"I'll wrap them, dear." She concluded, swapping them for my own clothes. I pulled my robe back in place as I followed her to the counter to pay for my absurd indulgence. I saw Hermione there with another saleswoman. She was also wearing a slightly guilty look. We walked out together in silence, and were two storefronts down the street before either of us spoke.

"I feel a little weird walking around with this bag," I said.

"So do I." Hermione said in a brisk tone. I looked at her and started to smile. She did too. Soon we were laughing.

"Were you as freaked out by that as I was?" I asked, finally gaining control of myself.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "I didn't know I had to try everything on, and with her right there in the room!" Her hands fluttered up near her face, where a pink blush rose in her cheeks.

"I know!" I gushed. "And she kept telling me all these stories about her personal life! Eek!"

"What did she say?" Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. I looked around us on the street.

"I can't tell you here. A kid might hear." I muttered. Hermione's eyes got even wider.

"Really?" She squeaked. "Oh. Oh, Anna. I might've—I might've just left."

"I thought about it, but I knew you were still in there and I didn't want to go." I swept a hand over my hair. "I don't think I'll ever do that again." I laughed.

"I don't think I will either." Hermione smiled. We walked back to Hogwarts with our shrunken parcels hidden in our robe pockets.

I took two days off the next week. One was to travel to London and ready myself for the shoot, and the next for the shoot itself. I knew I'd have to travel back to go through the editing meeting, but I knew I needed a week of working like normal to keep me sane between the two encounters with PlayWizard. I'd also decided to take Byron with me when I traveled, and for the same reason. Sanity. I already felt like it was slipping, and I had to be sharp for this. I had to be.

Harry came to get me from Hogwarts early, well before the students would be awake. We took the floo from my chambers to his London flat, where I stood awkwardly clutching my bag until Tonks walked into the room.

"Wotcher, Anna." She said, clearly tired. "There's coffee in the kitchen." I set my bag by the end of the sofa and followed her into the other room, Harry and Byron falling in behind us. We settled at the kitchen table with Byron at our feet. After a silence, Tonks began to review the steps of the plan. After I'd assured them both that I understood and that I'd be all right on my own in Harry's flat for an entire workday, they headed to the Ministry.

When Harry arrived that night he looked like he'd been put in a muggle clothes dryer. His hair was on end, his robes were rumpled, one of his shoes was untied, and his tie was limp around his neck. Only his glasses were on straight. Byron bounded up to meet him and immediately planted his paws on Harry's shoulders. I scrambled off the couch to intervene.

"Byron! Down!" I commanded, noticing the wince on Harry's face when Byron impacted his shoulder. Once I had Byron on the floor again I peered at Harry a bit more closely. A thin line of blood trailed from his outer eyebrow to his cheekbone. "Would you like me to look at that?" I offered. Harry pitched his robe and tie down the hall and turned to me, blinking. "The cut on your face," I clarified. He reached two fingers up to the side of his face and winced as he touched the line of blood.

"Don't bother about it," he mumbled.

"Harry." I planted my feet, shifting into my healer voice. "Come here and let me look at it, at least." He regarded me for a moment, then let out an impatient sigh. He walked over into the living room to stand in better light. "Hermione does the same thing to you, doesn't she?"

"All the time." Harry confirmed, his voice impatient. I angled his chin so I could see the cut more clearly. It was superficial, but singed at the edges. Interesting.

"Partially cauterized?" I muttered to myself. "Well, no…" The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. I turned him to face me again. "What?" I demanded.

"You talk to yourself." He noted.

"Oh, hush." I commanded, turning his face again. I focused a moment and did a wandless spell to bind the skin together, and another to forestall scarring. I ran my index finger over the skin next to his eye, checking my work. He caught my hand and held it, looking at me. I looked back for a few moments. Don't stare, Arthur. Check the shoulder. I kicked myself back into gear. "Now, your shoulder's painful as well?"

"It's just a bruise," he evaded.

"I'll judge that." I cut in, snapping back to my healer voice. "What happened to it?"

"I landed on it." He said tersely. My mind sped through all the horrible things that could've made an Auror land on his shoulder before I could think to stop it. I took a sharp breath, forcing my face to stay neutral.

"I'd like to see it." He looked at me impatiently for a moment, and I looked steadily back. "And I won't drop the subject until you let me." I raised an eyebrow at him. He shook his head, but started unbuttoning his shirt. I slid my palm over the skin of his shoulder, pushing the shirt down his arm. My palm tingled with the contact; I shifted my grip. "Yes, that's a bruise," I confirmed. I peered at the discoloration, looking at the imprint of bone and tendon in the impact area. "Hmm. Stretch your arm back for me?" He complied, and winced about sixty percent of the way through a normal range of motion. "It's more of a burning pain?" He nodded. "Okay." I turned and retrieved my wand from the couch.

"What're you doing?" He asked, his arm limp at his side again.

"I'm checking the degree of separation you've got…" I trailed off, realizing I was about to get irritatingly technical. "I think you've injured the same area a few times, and that it's caused a buildup of tissue in your muscle. I can fix that easily, and it will let you move your arm without pain."

"It's not that painful." He muttered.

"Harry, I'm the expert here." I reminded him. I smiled at his chastened look. "This will feel odd for a few seconds—it will tingle and feel warm." I started a visualization spell to get a sense of the scarring in Harry's shoulder. "Holy cats, Harry." I breathed. "This must hurt like hell."

"It doesn't, really." He protested.

"I can dissolve the buildup, but it will make your arm feel a little weak for the next hour." I explained.

"All right." Harry agreed.

"It'll burn. Would you like me to numb your shoulder first?" Harry shook his head. I nodded, and started working on his shoulder. I could tell he was in pain at the outset only by a tiny flare in his nostrils. Toward the end he just stood patiently watching my wand movements. When I finished I shook the kinks out of my wand arm, and my wrist gave a loud crack. Harry lifted an eyebrow at me. "Sit," I commanded. "Your muscles will knit more firmly if you rest."

"I think you're bossier than Hermione," he groused, sinking to the couch. Byron immediately installed himself at Harry's feet.

"Thanks," I teased. Harry leaned his head against the back of the couch. He looked exhausted. "Seriously, though, I do need to evaluate it again later this evening." He pulled his head back up and looked at me.

"Right." He nodded. He looked into the middle distance for a moment. "Do you want to order take away?"

"If you let me go get it." I pressed. I knew I was on the verge of making too much of a pain of myself, but that shoulder made me nervous. He'd clearly been landing on it repeatedly and ignoring the pain. Stubborn man.

"Fine." He dropped his head back to the couch for a moment, before rising to give me directions to a storefront down the street, and suggestions about the menu. When I returned Harry had sprawled on the couch and was sound asleep. The combination of my return and Byron's shifting woke him.

We ate quietly in the kitchen, then returned to opposite sides of the couch. Harry paged through a quidditch magazine with a bored look on his face; I did the same thing with a healing journal. It was so much harder to keep the foolish thoughts out of my mind with him sitting right there, his shirt still mostly unbuttoned. I berated myself for being unprofessional, then for being immature, and finally for being unrealistic. But there it was: he was at the other end of the couch. I could stretch out my legs and touch him. And I wanted him.

The thought surprised me. A startled look crossed my face, which I quickly tried to brush away. I threw my gaze back down to my journal and forced myself to read, but barely made it a few sentences before Harry sighed. I was gone again, thinking about him. My gaze drifted up off the page. I grimaced, taking myself to task for foolishness.

"Not up to your standards?" Harry's voice made me jump.

"Huh?" I blinked stupidly.

"You looked annoyed." He gestured toward my journal.

"Oh—I didn't…" I babbled. "I suppose I wasn't really paying attention."

"How could you be bored by…" He leaned over, reading from my page. "Osteo—what is that?"

"It's a technique for bone repair that's under research in sports medicine right now." I smiled at his rendering of the term.

"They need a new one?" He turned to me, throwing a knee up on the couch. I mirrored his pose; our shins aligned on the narrow sofa.

"Yes. Well, not always." I looked to the ceiling a moment, choosing my words. "They're researching it in sports medicine because many athletes have used bone regrowth techniques too many times—maybe you've heard of that?"

"Yeah. It keeps players out while their bones heal naturally." He nodded.

"It does. It's also extremely painful for the players, since bones don't knit in exactly the natural manner after too many repairs. There's increased risk of tumors, so the process requires monitoring and occasional surgery."

"So this new method avoids that." Harry prompted.

"We hope so. The new method tricks the bone cells with a different mechanism, so it may be safe to use for patients who have had too many fractures repaired the other way." I paused. "But I suspect it's too optimistic. Bone cells—any cells—eventually reject the alterations we currently know how to perform. This technique might only buy some time before the patient will have to be taken through natural healing."

"I see."

"But it is part of a trend I think will be positive in healing—the use of muggle research to augment our own work."

"Now you really do sound like Hermione." Harry teased. I smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment." I gestured toward his magazine. "What are you reading?"

"A long complaint about the officiating at the last Quidditch World Cup," he replied, "that doesn't matter now that it's decided."

"Sounds thrilling." I smiled.

"It's like talking to Ron." He smiled back. I snickered.

"Ron likes lost causes?"

"Ron likes the Cannons."

"Those Weasleys." I shook my head. "Fred and George spent some of our time in Grimmauld Place trying to get me to understand quidditch."

"You don't?" Harry asked.

"Harry, I'm American." I rolled my eyes. "We don't do quidditch." He scoffed. I soldiered on. "I spent hours staring at little children's toys flying around pitching balls at one another, Harry. I tried. I just can't give a damn."

"I think you didn't try." Harry accused.

"Of course I did. I was stuck in that room with Fred and George. They made me." I huffed. Then, listening to myself, I recalled our game of Truth or Dare. I was helpless to keep the silly grin off my face.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well. Fred and George didn't make me like quidditch, but they did get me to play Truth or Dare with them." I laughed, thinking about Remus and the magazines.

"You didn't, Anna." Harry looked aghast.

"Remus said the same thing." I shook my head. "I didn't allow them to dare me to do anything."

"Then how did Remus get involved?" Harry smirked.

"I'm not telling you anything, Potter." I teased. "Now let me see that shoulder; it's time you went to bed." Harry gave me a glare and crossed his arms. "Don't even try to be difficult. I work with teenagers." I threatened. He regarded me steadily, arms still crossed. I considered my options. I kept a neutral look on my face and got to my feet, then walked around to Harry's end of the couch. He continued to look up at me.

"I do not have a curfew." He rumbled.

"But you do have an injury." I nagged. I reached for the collar of his shirt and slid it aside, lightly feeling the muscle surface for irregularities. So far, so good. I ran a quick diagnostic on the muscle. Also good. I flipped the shirt completely off of his shoulder and leaned in to take a close look at the bruise pattern. Using it as a guide, I ran a few more visualization spells. "Pretty good." I muttered. I shot a quick anti-inflammation spell at the area and healed the bruise. "Reach all the way up for me?" Harry turned his head and seemed to gauge whether or not he'd hit me by following my instructions. I turned around to face him and leaned in to his shoulder, my face near his collarbone. "Better?" I asked, glancing up at him.

"Mm." He agreed, his breath brushing over my hair.

"Now, reach up, please." He followed my instructions. His bones worked much more smoothly. "Any pain?" He shook his head. "Reach behind you, please." He pushed his arm back, now able to extend it fully. He looked surprised. I moved around behind him. "Now forward." His muscle handled the motion well, though with some hesitation. He lowered his arm with visible relief. "Any sharp pain?"

"No." He turned to look at me as I walked around to his side again. I pulled the collar of his shirt back into place. He pinned me with his eyes for a moment, and again I had to push my brain to the next thought. I straightened and stepped away to the opposite end of the couch, pushing my hands through my hair and containing it behind my back. He was still gazing at me when I turned back around.

"Harry?" I asked. He started, then covered his flinch by leaning forward to pick up his magazine.

"Anna," he said, turning to me again. "You're comfortable with the plan for tomorrow?" He leaned slightly forward, a concerned wrinkle in his brow.

"The plan, yes." I answered honestly. "I'm scared half to death. I won't lie to you. But it's not about the plan."

"What is it?" He kept his eyes on me.

"I'm afraid to do it." I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself tightly. "It's stupid, I know. But it's just…I can't think of myself that way."

"I don't understand."

"I just don't think…" I let out a frustrated breath. "I'm not that girl, Harry. I'm not one of the pretty ones. It's not me." He turned away from me, and I cursed myself for showing weakness like that. What did I want him to say? What could he say?

"No," he said at last, turning to look at me again. "You're not like that." He stood up and turned toward the windows, rolling his shoulders back. "I'm going to bed." He walked a few steps toward the hall and turned to me again. "Thanks," he gestured toward his shoulder, then walked into the dark hallway.