After they finished decking the tree late morning the two friends sunk into the blue camelback sofa to watch season after season of The Vicar of Dibley and then The Office , laughing and snickering into their cushions. After about the tenth episode, they'd moved into an almost spooning position, Harry's arm and leg thrown over Hermione who hadn't been quiet in her complaints but also hadn't done anything to free herself from his hold.
She found she enjoyed his laugh vibrating against her back and his fingers that gently stroked her hand.
"You smell of vanilla and cinnamon…" He told her, burying his nose in the curve of her neck, making goosebumps arise on her skin.
She decided to shift their positions as her back was beginning to complain, turning over with some difficulty until her head faced his chest. Harry continued to hold her, closer and tighter even against him and Hermione sighed, letting herself relax.
It was nice to be held.
"Are we getting our cat tomorrow?" She asked him after a while. Her eyes were closed, tired from the hours of brightness coming from the television screen.
"If by cat you mean a dachshund…" He trailed off, feigning nonchalance.
"You lost the game Potter, we're getting a cat!"
"Oh, come off it Hermione. It's a small enough dog and they have shiny black fur and are adorably long and short-legged. They're great hunters too."
"Why would I want a hunting dog in the middle of London?" Harry shrugged.
"The butcher's dog had a litter of six… Come with me to see tomorrow, 'Mione…" She huffed.
"I already put it in my diary to visit the Clapton cat shelter tomorrow."
"Can you really resist an adorable sausage-dog puppy, Hermione? Are you really that heartless?"
"I'm beginning to regret all this pet thing." Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"You're right, love. The house is big enough for one of each." Harry felt Hermione tense against him and before she could tell him off or hit him Harry cleverly popped away, probably to his bedroom.
Hermione in turn found herself plopped against the rug, staring up at the ceiling, skin tingling where he'd kissed her. She should take better care of her heart… She was beginning to tread down a dangerous, almost forbidden path.
...
When Hermione arrived home carrying a beautiful grown ginger cat with green eyes in a carrier, a black and brown puppy ran and glided against the wooden floor. The puppy played with one of Harry's socks, growling and shaking her head as if it were some vicious foe.
Almost nineteen years of friendship and it was still unbearably hard saying know to the bloody wanker. The puppy was beautiful, sassy even, and had the tendency to follow after Hermione whenever she was downstairs. She found her heart melted each time the puppy licked her or nuzzled against her feet.
Before Harry had had the chance to choose between Princess Leia and Boudiccea for names Hermione had called her Daisy, and it stuck.
The cat, though an adult, had taken an instant liking to both her humans, rubbing against their legs, purring and lazily sleeping in a ball next to them on the sofa while Harry watched Léon the Professional for the millionth time.
"I'm naming him Leon," He declared, as Hermione sat curled into her favorite armchair with her favorite builder's tea and a new book.
"Leon the milk-drinking mini-assassin?" she teased and Harry chuckled.
"Clever girl," he quipped, sending her a silly face.