The next morning, Hermione woke slowly, languidly, blinking as her bedroom came into focus around her. Weak sunshine was spilling through the curtains, bringing her room into a soft-edged brilliance that was just this side of beautiful.
She sighed, smiling, and stretched, feeling all of the new, low-burning aches left by the night before. The feeling settled deep in her hips, the small of her back, her stomach, her shoulders. It was a pleasant type of exhaustion, something that was practically decadent by this point in her life — a sensation born of pure pleasure, rather than obligation. Hermione hadn't felt like this in a long time.
Or maybe ever, an unhelpful corner of her brain supplied, and she frowned, rubbing her nose on her pillow. But before she could chase that thought down and put it in a chokehold, a soft meow sounded from the foot of the bed. Winnie perked up, the tops of his ears visible over her duvet, and one of them twitched as she watched.
"Good morning," she said to him, reaching out to give him a rub. "Time for breakfast?"
Then, a cluster of voices threaded through her door and into her room. "—think the Minister would be opposed to a few hidden defensive spell triggers?" "No, but you should probably make sure—" "We can't make these sort of decisions—"
Hermione's frown deepened and she slid out of bed, gathering her hair into a plait as she went into her closet. So much for a bit of a lie-in on her first day of house arrest.
Somewhere between getting dressed and brushing her teeth, her stomach twisted into a series of knots the extent of which she had never experienced before, not even on NEWTs day. It almost made her inhale her toothpaste, and she blinked at her reflection in shock.
She was being ridiculous. This was nothing new. She'd had sex before, and this was Harry, not some stranger off Camden Road. Whatever had happened between them, whatever might happen again, was insane, but it hadn't been a mistake, or a fluke. He'd wanted it as much as she had. Of that, she was sure.
Conviction. A feeling she knew, yet it felt unfamiliar in this context. Somehow, she would have to keep a handle on her nerves — that much was clear — because apart from everything else, they wouldn't be alone for another twelve hours. If they had to talk about it, they could talk about it when they were no longer under constant scrutiny. There was nothing she could do about it now, and there was certainly no reason for her to have a wobbly about it in the meantime.
Five minutes later, Hermione swallowed her nerves, shut the cats in the bedroom, and went out into the sitting room, where she came upon quite the group of people.
Harry was nowhere in sight, though whether that was good or bad, she didn't know — she was thankful for it, regardless, because seeing him right away would've thrown her off her guard. She couldn't afford that because there were five newcomers, and the sight of them in full robes in the middle of her rather Muggle sitting room was nothing short of jarring.
Three of them wore DMLE robes, and the other two were in the sleek black velvet robes worn by the Department of Mysteries. The DMLE squad she recognized at once — two of them were specialists from the Disguise and Disfigurement branch, and the third was none other than Seamus Finnegan, who was the Department's Director of Locational Security. One of the Department of Mysteries employees was a relative unknown to her — an Angela something — whom she vaguely recalled as being involved with experiments to do with Space, and the other she knew so well she couldn't help but smile when he turned to her.
"Minister. Good morning." Draco inclined his sleek head and gave her a smile of his own. It was sort of surreal, seeing him in her sitting room, leaning against her sofa. His regal chin and pointed nose made everything around him look almost pedestrian by comparison. "I do apologize if these buffoons woke you. I've been trying to corral them, to little effect."
"Nice, Malfoy," said Seamus, from where he was standing in the corner of the room, wand out and a thin blue diagnostic beam projecting from it onto the wall. He glanced over his shoulder. "Though I apologize if we disturbed you, Minister. We were trying to have this finished before you started your day."
"It's not a problem," Hermione replied, leaning against the back of the sofa beside Draco. He was well-dressed as usual under his robes, in a dark grey pinstripe waistcoat and trousers paired with an emerald green shirt and a gold watch chain. The outfit was so typically Draco that she wanted to roll her eyes. "Though maybe you could give me some idea of what it is you're trying to do, Seamus."
"Increase your wards," said Seamus. "Well, and add in some defensive mechanisms."
"Defensive mechanisms," Hermione repeated, raising an eyebrow at him. Seamus grinned in response. "I wasn't under the impression that those would be part of the security workover."
"But are you opposed to it?"
Hermione gritted her teeth, doing a lot to keep herself from grinning back. "I suppose not. What did you have in mind?"
"Couple of trigger spells, combination of defensive jinxes and trap jinxes. Petrificus and stuff like that. And, if you're open to it, a couple proper booby traps. Trick trapdoors, hidden cells, that sort of thing."
That explained why Angela was here. "You may proceed," Hermione replied. "Just make sure I or any of the other security guards can't get ourselves stuck in any of it. And check in with Ha—Auror Potter to make sure you're all on the same page."
"Will do, ma'am." Seamus gave her a nod and eagerly went about his work, conferring with the other three as they joined him in the corner.
Draco, however, hung back, and he bumped his shoulder against hers. "You're looking well, all things considered."
"You should've seen me at around two o'clock yesterday. Would've given Pansy six months' worth of material for her column." Hermione glanced at him. "Why are you here?"
Draco sniffed. "To offer my expert services as the in-house Potions Master." His cool expression lasted for five seconds before it cracked and he flashed her just the hint of a grin. "No. I wanted to see how you were doing. The last time we actually spoke in person was—"
"Was the morning of the initial incident, yes." Hermione took a breath, her mind suddenly flooding with images from the past week — ducking the AK, Harry and Kingsley nearly shouting at one another, the look on Crane's face when the first spells went off, the fire smoldering in her bedroom grate — before getting replaced by another image entirely. Harry, naked, between her legs, gazing up at her with all of the hunger and passion she felt, his hand sliding— "I'm holding up, really, I am."
"You're certainly in better spirits than I'd expected." Draco shot her another glance. "And you're somehow on a first name basis with he-who-must-not—"
"I'm as surprised as you are," Hermione replied, feeling a blush threaten. Of course he'd caught her near-slip with Harry's name. "But I suppose it was get along and find a way to work in the middle of all this insanity or… not. Things are easier this way."
Draco nodded. "I can understand that. And I noticed that he's dressing like an actual Ministry official for the first time in… what, a decade? Am I assuming correctly that you had something to do with it?" He took her silence as confirmation and smirked again. "Damn, Granger. Remind me to send you an owl the next time Blaise doesn't want to help me clean out the basement."
"I'm afraid my services aren't for hire." Hermione watched the others, who were still trading ideas in the corner, before she sighed. Might as well get it over with. "I don't suppose you know where—?"
"Upstairs," Draco replied. "Strategy meeting, I think. Seems like Potter's turned your lounge into something of a situation room."
"Lovely." Hermione ignored the way his name made her stomach flip, like she was fifteen and pining all over again. "Just what I always envisioned in my home. Politics, strategy, enough Ministry employees to make my décor the next front-page special."
Draco huffed, nudging her with his elbow. "I know it's a bore, Hermione. And it's unsettling. But if it's any consolation, there's barely been a peep about the incident yesterday. The meeting with Crane was so top-secret in the first place I think everyone's on a need-to-know."
She thought for a moment. "I wonder how many arms Kingsley had to twist to keep it quiet. He must be running low on favors by now."
"I suppose." Draco turned away from watching the others and faced her, looking her directly in the eye. "Seriously, though. Are you all right?"
Hermione shivered in spite of herself. She'd forgotten how intense his gaze could be, especially when he was worried. "Yes." She forced herself to nod. "It's been a lot, obviously, but I'm handling it."
Draco took this in with a nod, but his hand found his signet ring, which he began to twist in a way Hermione knew well. He was nervous, and it was so sweet of him it made her heart skip a beat. She hadn't realized until this very moment just how badly she'd missed having a friend's company through all this.
Then, Draco asked her what she thought of Harkniss's most recent publication on Sleeping Draughts, and that led to a conversation that took them from her living room and into her kitchen, where Hermione went about making them tea and a plate of biscuits.
"I do think it's a very important step in the treatment of sleeping disorders as well as addiction," Hermione was saying as she polished off the last of her tea. "Finding a non habit-forming distillation of Valerian would unlock a vast array of medical possibilities. You could even start brewing according to a strength grading scale, which could prevent patients from accidentally or purposefully overdosing themselves."
Draco nodded as he chewed. He'd polished off three of her good Petit Écolier biscuits, which she kept on hand for precisely this reason — Draco's sweet tooth had always been something of a problem, and a problem that had only worsened once Blaise decided to try his hand at making pastries in the off-season. "Parvati is very excited about it, as well. She's actually reached out to Harkniss to see if he's interested in joining one of her research teams."
Hermione nodded, unsurprised. During Parvati's tenure as a Deputy Healer for the Department of Potions and Poisoning, she'd brought research and development to a whole new frontier, but without exorbitantly high costs or garnering the disapproval of the Trustees. Hermione had an inkling that she would be addressing Parvati as 'Head Healer' before long. "I honestly think this sort of development is long overdue. Mungo's has been a little slow to adapt to the twenty-first century, so it's about time they started taking some steps forward."
Before Draco could reply, there came the sound of footsteps from the dining room, and a moment later, Harry appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Hermione's heart thudded painfully and her stomach dropped to her ankles at the sight of him.
He was dressed somewhat informally — he'd forgone his Auror robes, and was wearing grey slacks and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight of his muscular, scarred forearms was indecent at this time of day, especially now that she knew how they felt under the skin of her palm. He had a five o'clock shadow and his hair was somewhat messily combed, like he'd had to get ready with little warning, and she wondered if he, too, had slept in a tad longer than he'd meant.
In short, Harry looked completely different and exactly the same. Hermione wondered if the whole world had rearranged itself into paradoxes overnight.
"Morning, Minister." His gaze landed on her for a split second before it drifted to Draco, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Morning, Ferret."
"Potter," Draco replied, sending him a bland smile in reply. "I take it your confab is over?"
"For the moment." Harry made his way over to the kettle and went about making a cup of tea, his movements easy and practiced. Hermione had forgotten just how comfortable he was in her presence, in her kitchen, but was reminded of it when Draco looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She blushed and stared down into her mug, the feeling of Draco's gaze on her face almost too much to bear.
"Sounds like I interrupted quite the discussion," Harry went on. "You both know we don't have to write Potions essays anymore, correct?"
Draco snorted. "Easy for someone who never earned better than a 'Dreadful' to say. Jealous, Potter?"
Harry chuckled, the sound doing something very messy and twisted to Hermione's insides. He turned and leaned against the counter, still not looking at her. "Of you, Ferret? Never. How's the kept man, anyway?"
"He's very well," Draco replied, his expression shifting into something softer, more fond. "The team's just coming off a holiday, so he's quite excited to get back onto the pitch." Blaise was the Manager for the English national team.
That kicked off a detailed discussion of Quidditch that Hermione couldn't follow even if she wanted to, so she pulled her tablet out from under a stack of miscellaneous memos and started clicking through her schedule. The clock told her it was already half past eight, somewhat to her surprise. Jill had sent her a couple of texts, saying she would arrive as soon as the security team gave her the all-clear, and Hermione replied with sincere gratitude — she hated facing departmental budget proposals on her own.
Apart from that, the only meetings she had at the Ministry that afternoon were at two and three o'clock, and Hermione stared at the calendar blocks, hardly able to believe it. It would be the earliest she'd left the office in months, perhaps even years.
Well, she reminded herself, your workday doesn't end just because you come home. And that was true even in normal circumstances. It was one thing to see the bright side in a dire situation, but it was another to take the dire situation as an excuse to let down her guard, or to hold herself to a different standard. No, Hermione thought, clicking out of her calendar and opening the Guardian app, this isn't any different to a normal workday. The sooner you start thinking that, the better.
Besides, she knew that inside of a week she'd be climbing the walls and want nothing more than to go back to work as usual. Which was why it wasn't up to her — these decisions were made by the High Council for a reason. After Fudge, Scrimgeour, and Thicknesse, it was made clear that the office of Minister held rather too much unchecked power, and the Minister should be held accountable by a final, comprehensive team of Ministry officials. The High Council was made up of Ministerial Department Heads, and they were the ones who decided policy as far as the office of Minister was concerned. The only prevailing ultimate power left to the Minister was the veto, though that was now regulated through a trial process. And as Kingsley had pointed out the night before, she couldn't very well veto a policy that was put in place for her own protection.
Hermione found it delightfully ironic that Kingsley, ever the quiet rebel against bureaucracy, had ended up making the Ministry more bureaucratic than it had ever been.
She peered at a headline about Boris Johnson and absently wondered if maybe Parliament should try to follow the same route.
"Minister," said Harry, breaking her focus. She looked up to find both him and Draco watching her. "What's on the agenda?"
"Two meetings after lunch and budget proposals before and probably after that, as soon as Jill can get here. Any idea how much longer the team needs?"
"I'm not sure, ma'am." The corner of his mouth twitched. "When I left the sitting room, Seamus was muttering about a trick painting, so it might be a while."
Hermione sighed through her nose. It was all she could do at this point to hope that there wouldn't be permanent damage to her house. Though maybe she could convince them to let Jill slip inside between lengthy modifications. "Lovely. Any news from the DMLE?"
"Nothing yet. I'll inform you as soon as I hear something."
"Please do." Hermione scrolled through a couple of articles. "How's the security team?"
"Shored up and ready to make the new system work." Harry took a sip of his tea. "Might have a few minor hiccups today, might not. I'm just glad to have Alpha Team back at its fighting best, ma'am."
"I'm glad they're back as well. They did excellent work yesterday."
"Yes," Harry replied, and something about the way he said it made her glance up. His face was unchanged, but there was a renewed heat in his eyes, and her stomach twisted in reply. "They did very well yesterday."
Hermione did everything she could not to read into that, but as Harry and Draco picked up the Quidditch conversation again, she had the distinct suspicion that today would be very interesting, indeed.
When Hermione said finally goodnight to Jill, it was almost eight o'clock, and the cold night was inky black around her house. She watched as two of her special agents, dressed in Muggle clothes and with glamors in place, fell into step behind Jill as she made her way to the designated Apparition point, then felt a peculiar numbness overtake her. This was her life, now, and for the foreseeable future — a life in which her friends and coworkers had to pass endless rounds of test and follow protocols that seemed to change by the hour; a life with next to no privacy, no spontaneity—
Hermione shivered in the brutal evening air and stepped inside, closing the door behind her, the wards reengaging beneath her hand. No point in self-pity, she told herself, not when people ended up in St. Mungo's yesterday thanks to your stubbornness.
The day had been normal, or as normal as it could've been, given the circumstances. Draco and the other Ministry officials had left around midmorning, not long after Seamus finished putting his so-called "finishing touches" on her front doormat. Hermione knew, of course, that the DMLE as well as her own security team had all of the details of Seamus's modifications, but a part of her couldn't help feeling apprehensive. She still remembered a very odd morning in her Ministry office when one of her bookcases suddenly vanished without any warning, and April Fool's the previous year when Seamus had turned the DMLE's entrance into a trapdoor that emptied out into the Atrium fountain.
Really, she thought now as she had then, it's a small wonder he's not working with George.
Whatever Draco thought about her and Harry's 'stalemate,' he at least had the sense to hold his tongue. But she'd been all too aware of the way he'd watched her and Harry do their fickle dance, trading barbs as well as pleasantries as the morning went on. It was the closest they'd been to being friendly around other people in years, and as self-conscious Hermione was about it, Draco was worse — he was tuned in to the situation like a giant antenna, cataloguing every detail in his usual, meticulous way, she was sure. He hadn't said a word to her about it, but when he left, he'd given her a look that had clearly said, Come on, you must be joking.
Hermione swallowed. She probably had quite the letter headed her way.
But, in spite of what Draco's reaction might have suggested, any worries she'd had about her and Harry interacting in a professional capacity after the events of the night before had disappeared — he really was as good at compartmentalizing as she was. There weren't any awkward moments, and he never tried to push any boundaries by sneaking a kiss or anything like that in the rare interludes that they were alone.
Hermione was relieved, of course. She had enough concerns without the added issue of a handsy hookup trying to push her buttons.
Is that what he is now? she thought, her stomach jolting. A hookup?
"Minister?" came Harry's voice from the kitchen. He sounded worried, and she realized she'd been gone for longer than she'd meant.
"Yes, I'm here." Hermione cleared her throat and started heading towards the kitchen. "Jill's just gone."
Harry looked up when she entered. He was leaning against the counter by the sink, and she could tell her was trying to look casual and unaffected, but without much success. Like her, he was apprehensive, and trying to hide it. "Early day today, wasn't it?"
Hermione nodded, going for the fridge, where she produced the half-full bottle of white wine. "I run out of steam when it comes to budgets. There's probably something poetic or ironic about that." She turned, and was surprised to find a wine glass in his hand, only inches from her own. In spite of her best efforts, she blushed, and took it from him. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." Harry stepped away, crossing his arms against his chest. Hermione took a seat at the island, and they lapsed into silence.
The sound of the wine hitting her glass echoed in the quiet room, and Hermione almost wished the cats were there to serve as a distraction, but no, they were elsewhere, sleeping off their dinners and the tidal wave of affection they'd managed to sneak out of Jill. She brought the glass to her mouth, relishing the cold bite of the wine, its floral bouquet bursting across her tongue.
Only a moment after she'd swallowed, Harry cleared his throat and said, "It's purple."
Hermione stared at him, utterly confused. "Pardon?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "The elephant in the room."
"Oh." Hermione bit back a laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. "I see."
Harry scuffed his foot against the floor. "We have to talk about it."
"I know." Hermione spun the wine glass in a little circle, its surface smooth under her fingers. It helped to distract her from the way her stomach was rolling, the way it felt like she was falling and flying at the same time. "What should we say?"
Harry exhaled, closing the distance between the counter and the island. He propped himself on the edge, once again drawing undue attention to his forearms, to the cords of muscle just barely visible under the fabric of his shirt. Now that he was closer, a mere foot and a half away from her, she could see the seriousness in his eyes, a sincerity that felt closer to Hogwarts Harry instead of Auror Harry. It didn't help her stomach situation.
"We can say it was a fluke. A by-product of high stress and adrenaline and whatever else you'd like." One of his fingers tapped a slow beat on the marble surface. "We can say it was about the moment, rather than the person. That we forgot about the boundaries, that I'm technically your subordinate, that there are at least a dozen rules forbidding this sort of thing."
The numbness returned, sweeping up Hermione's neck, across her mouth. "Right," she found herself saying, trying not to feel disappointed, because that would be ridiculous, she hadn't lost anything, there was nothing to feel disappointed about—
Still watching her, Harry stepped around the island. "We can say that we're adults. That we know what we want, and we can separate what we want from what we have to do each day." He was standing right in front of her now, close enough that she had to look up at him. His eyes were their unchanged, brilliant green, and the sincerity was still there. "We say that we can be honest with each other, when we need to be. That we can do this for reasons that make sense to us, even if they don't make sense to other people."
He paused, and Hermione had to remind herself to breathe. She was scrambling for something to say, and the only word she could force out of her mouth was, "Right."
"So, Minister." There he was, being coy again. As if he hadn't just flattened her in less than a minute. "Would you like to tell me what this is?"
Hermione swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to reach for him, to tangle her fingers in his shirt and kiss him until neither of them could breathe. She forced herself not to crumble, not to move an inch. "It's physical," she found herself saying. "Nothing else. Just sex."
Harry nodded, clearly unsurprised. "And if I were to say there's no such thing as 'just sex'—"
"Then I'd say 'I'm Hermione Granger, fuck you.'" Hermione blinked, almost unable to believe she'd just said that aloud.
Harry gave her a sudden grin, then it was gone. "If that works for you, it works for me."
"Yes," Hermione breathed, giving in and standing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. "It works for me."
Their kiss was sloppy, heated, and she could've leaned into it for hours, but it didn't last long. Harry broke away, took her hand, and pulled her into the sitting room.
"Good call," Hermione murmured, and he nodded in reply, his hands already at the hem of her jumper, his fingers brushing her skin, curling at the dip of her waist. She pushed him down onto the sofa and climbed on top of him, kissing him again and again as her hands scrabbled at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to have him naked—
Harry huffed against her mouth, his hand lost in her hair, which had somehow come loose, and was tumbling around her in waves— "Here," he mumbled, and snapped his fingers.
Their clothing disappeared, and Hermione lurched back in shock. The sudden feeling of his skin against hers was delicious, but it was still— "What—? How did you—?"
Harry replied by pulling her back in and sweeping his tongue through her mouth. His hands were everywhere, squeezing, holding, stroking, and Hermione felt like she was on fire, her body buzzing and electric and ready. She clung to him, his shoulder lovely and firm beneath her hand, even if it was almost bisected by a thick scar. Her hips flexed, grinding down against his lap, and she moaned aloud when his cock grazed against her, thick and warm and—
Harry grunted, his mouth dropping to her breasts. He tongued at her nipples, circling and flicking as his fingers dug into the flesh of her ass—
"More," Hermione breathed, her pulse throbbing in her face. He obeyed, sucking at her until his teeth grazed the edge of her skin, and she shuddered, clenching against something that wasn't there, pleasure surging and singing along the edges of her body—
Harry slipped two fingers inside her, groaning when he found her wet, and his fingers twisted, grazing her G-spot, making her shiver, and Hermione could have stayed like that for a long weekend, his mouth on her breasts, his fingers drawing patterns inside her body, but it wasn't enough, wasn't—
"Now," she breathed, and Harry murmured the spell they needed, giving her one last stroke before he pulled his hand away. She shifted, looking down at his chest so she wouldn't have to look him in the face, and used her hand to guide his cock inside her.
They both moaned as her body took him in, and Hermione rocked against him, relishing the way she stretched and filled. It felt different from the night before, and yet completely the same. She rolled her hips once, twice, three times, testing her body, and once it was ready, she began to fuck him in earnest.
It was rough, fast, messy — she was impatient, chasing the edge she'd found the night before, moaning when the angle took his stomach right against her clit, sending tingles up her spine. Hermione kept her eyes half-shut and her head tilted back, still not wanting to meet Harry's gaze, listening to the slick slap of their bodies in the quiet of her home.
It was surreal. Practically illegal. Immensely hot.
His nails were digging into the skin of her ass, and his hips twitched beneath her, meeting her halfway. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck and she squirmed, hot waves of pleasure surging up through her body. One of his hands shifted, moving to play with her nipple, and Hermione went a bit dizzy. He was learning.
Minutes or hours later — Hermione couldn't tell — her mouth went numb again, and her hips stuttered as tingling heat built at the base of her spine — "Oh," she moaned, speeding up, "Oh—"
Her orgasm rushed her in a golden crest, ebbing and surging even after it hit. She went a bit limp, and Harry's grip on her hips redoubled. He began to fuck up into her in earnest, her body jolting with every thrust, and Hermione went with it, bracing herself on his shoulders until his legs began to tremble, until he threw his head back and groaned—
Harry didn't move after he came, and Hermione felt no inclination to break the spell. He was still swollen inside her, and she shifted a little, noticing that the entire area between her thighs was a slick mess. She was sweaty, the inner creases of her arms and the skin behind her knees soft with moisture. Her breath began to even out, but Harry's breathing was still rapid and shallow—she could even see the pulse jumping in his neck, and she looked away, blinking as the room came back into focus around her.
So. They were doing this now.
It was stupid, foolish, even dangerous, but Merlin help them. They were doing it.
Then, in the relative silence of the room, her stomach growled. Very loudly.
Heat rushed into Hermione's face, but she was still too numb to react. "That—" She cleared her throat and tried again. "That—"
Harry brought his head up and looked at her, still a bit fuzzy, still a bit cheeky. His glasses were missing, though she couldn't remember that happening. His hands were still resting on her hips, warm, rough. "I'll order us some Thai."
"I—" Her stomach growled again, drowning out her protest. Hermione shut her mouth for a moment, trying not to die on the spot, and nodded. "I need to shower."
"All right."
She shifted, getting her feet under her and standing up, reaching for the thin throw on the edge of the sofa. For some reason, it was too much — naked and having sex was one thing, but naked and standing in the middle of her sitting room was another. She wrapped it around her and hurried out of the room, then fought the urge to slam her bedroom door behind her.
"Get a grip," she growled to herself as she went into the bathroom. "You can handle a terrorist throwing curses at your head but not this?"
Her shower was a little rushed, perfunctory. It was strange — her body was languid, relaxed, and to a certain extent, so was her mind, but a part of her was fidgety, antsy, unnerved. It's because it's still new, Hermione told herself as she rinsed off her body wash. It's new, and you can't believe that you just had sex in your sitting room. That's all.
She'd never done anything like that before. Nothing so brazen, let alone so unconventional. That was the first time she'd ever had sex in this sitting room. Perhaps it was silly for her to make that sort of distinction, but maybe, at the same time, it wasn't. She and Harry were officially doing this now — whatever this was — and it was obvious that he had a tendency to take what he wanted. To get what he wanted. This probably wouldn't be the first or the last time that she found herself doing something she'd never done before.
And enjoying it, she thought, somewhat ruefully, and switched off the shower.
When she emerged from her bedroom in her pajamas, her body still warm and loose, she found Harry in the sitting room. He'd put his clothes back on — the ones he'd charmed off her body were in a neat pile at the end of the sofa — and it was like nothing had ever happened.
One minute, they were one version of themselves, and the next minute, another.
Like Transfiguration, Hermione thought, before she could stop herself. Or Alchemy. Trouble was, she knew, in processes like that, the elements never remained pure. They changed no matter what, even if they didn't show it.
Harry was unpacking what looked to be enough Thai food for four people. It smelled incredible and looked identical to his meal from the week before. He glanced at her as she sat down in an armchair. "I figured we'd eat in here, if that's all right?"
"Sure," she said, trying not to look at the sofa, at the reminder of what had just happened. A part of her was dying to know the spell he'd used to undress them, to know how his wandless magic had gotten so precise. But her stomach growled again, and Harry shot her another look. It was amusement and warmth all rolled into one, and Hermione busied herself with the container of Pad Thai, drenching it in lime juice. "What else did you get?"
"Pad Si-ew, chicken in green curry, chicken in red curry. And some rice." Harry nodded at her telly. "Is that thing just for show?"
"No." She dug the remote out of the coffee table's lower shelf and switched it on. Kitchen Nightmares was playing, a rerun.
"Nice." Harry sat down on the sofa, in the same spot where she'd—
Hermione swallowed heavily, forcing that thought away. Now that Harry was distracted by Gordon Ramsey yelling at a doleful restaurant manager, she let herself look at him for longer than a few seconds. He had barely a hair out of place, and the only thing betraying their… activities… was a slight flush along his cheekbones. His eyes were on the TV, and he was shoving chicken curry into his mouth like he was on the brink of starvation, and he just avoided dripping the sauce on his slacks. It was sort of horrible, but for some reason, it made something inside her twist and sigh. Some things about Harry never changed, and it was just the reminder she needed.
No emotions. No attachments. Certainly not to Harry Potter.
At least the food was delicious. Hermione tucked into the noodles with relish, then told herself to do the impossible and relax.
