# After the Morning After

kyc639

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 24/08/2004
Last Updated: 21/09/2004
Status: Completed

Waking up next to Hermione after a night he cannot remember, Harry struggles with maintaining the friendship he has always known.

## 1. The Morning After

Standard disclaimer: I own nothing, I just like to borrow for a bit.

The Morning After

The first thought I had upon opening my eyes was, “My god, why did I open my eyes?” - and then I promptly shut them. I knew that in the grand scheme of things, the throbbing headache I was suffering from was but a pittance when compared to the love taps that Voldemort used to give me. But still, my head hurt. A lot.

I suppose this is one of those moments where people in my situation vow that they’ll never drink ‘like that’ again. Problem was, last night was actually my first time drinking. Yes, it’s a shocker, I’m sure. It’s just that, during my peak drinking years, I was too afraid to drink; I always imagined that just when I’d entered that state of drunkenness that everyone talks about, Voldemort would come crashing through the door with his merry men. So I remained alcohol-free throughout Hogwarts, always on alert. And after Hogwarts, when that bastard was finally defeated, I was too darn nervous about the idea of getting drunk. I could just see the headlines:

> [Insert clever moniker here] goes on drunken escapade: urinates on flock of puffskeins. See page 2 for exclusive pictures!

Yes, it wouldn’t be a pretty picture, both figuratively and literally. So, I’ve been very wary of the hard stuff, preferring to stick to butterbeer (which couldn’t even get a third year tipsy).

Last night though, the maraschino cherry in the whiskey sour of my alcohol-virginity was popped, and judging by my monstrous headache, it was none to gentle. Hermione Granger, my best friend of over a decade, had passed her final medical exam and is now certified to treat every single ailment ever discovered. Definitely a cause for celebration, but alas only Harry was available for the festivities. After a cheerful dinner, we went to my flat and broke open a bottle (or two) of wine. Mind you, this is in addition to the bubbly we had at dinner. I think after we ran out of the wine, other beverages were procured, but things are a little hazy from that point. Hermione’s not much of a drinker either, so I don’t imagine it took a lot to knock the both of us senseless. Once I recover sufficiently, I think I’ll drop by her place and see if she’s okay -

And then my world changed forever. I felt the bed sag slightly and an arm come to rest across my chest. Two thoughts seemed to simultaneously fill my brain. The first was the typical ‘Oh my God! What have I done?’-type thoughts that one expects in situations like this. The second was different, and a little bitter at that: ‘Just typical. My first time and I don’t remember any of it!’

Ah yes, time for the second shocker of the day. Apparently, until last night, Harry Potter was pure as the driven snow - I wasn’t just a virgin to alcohol. Interestingly enough, the reasons are pretty much the same: Voldemort on the brain, and then fame getting in the way. It’s a strange thought, really, that fame could be a hindrance to my getting laid. In general, I don’t think famous people really have problems finding bedmates, and when you add words like “rich,” “savior of the wizarding world,” and “dashingly handsome” (just kidding on the last one) to that, I’m sure I had more than enough willing witches out there. The problem was, though, that I didn’t just want a shag. I knew those willing witches out there just want to have a tumble with the scar, not me. And again, I had visions of scandalous headlines floating through my head:

> Unnamed witch claims to have [Insert clever moniker here]’s lovechild: ‘He used me for sex and then left me!’ claims the heartbroken witch. See page 2 for exclusive pictures!

Plus, what if I was…bad? I mean, true, it’s incredibly unlikely (insert manly grunt), but after all, the first and only time I ever kissed a girl, she ended up sobbing - definitely a sign that perhaps my technique needed a little bit of work. Outside a dozen people or so, I’m viewed as a hero. I have a reputation to protect after all, and, again, I can just imagine the headline now:

> [Insert clever moniker here]: Powerful wizard but just a Squib in bed – exclusive interview with the witches in Harry Potter’s life! Pictures too uninteresting to print.

Or

> [Insert clever moniker here] not just quick on the Quidditch pitch! Former seeker unable to find the Snitch when it really matters!

Hmm…I seem to have a very fertile imagination when it comes to newspaper headlines. Anyways, to summarize, to this point I’ve basically lived the life of a monk, complete even to the robes but without the cool chanting. But judging by the naked arm resting across my equally naked chest, all that changed last night.

Calling upon all my reserves of courage, I opened my eyes even while a small part of me knew what to expect. Turning my head to the side, I saw that familiar mass of bushy hair, though I never expected to see it lying on the pillow next to me. As the full ramifications of what happened started to settle in (I just slept with my best friend! But THANK GOD it was Hermione and not the other one), Hermione’s eyelids started to flutter open, and a frown creased her features. I watched in silence as she started to wake up, her features reflecting the headache she must be sporting, until she opened her eyes fully and saw me.

Silence.

I could almost hear her thoughts, since I had thought them just a few seconds ago. What happened? Oh my God, that’s Harry! Did I…did we…I’m not wearing any clothes, so we must have…Oh God!

I figured since I had the advantage of an extra few seconds to process this startling new information, I should start the dialogue. I managed a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she responded. Well, so far, so good. Then she seemed to realize that she wasn’t wearing any clothes and quickly gathered the sheets around her to cover those happy areas. I realized that the more she took, the less I had to cover my guy, so I grabbed a corner and held on for dear life. After a bit of tug-of-war, we settled into a truce when I found an extra pillow to use as a shield.

She sat up, clutching the sheet to her neck. However, that left her back exposed. And let me tell you that never before had I ever remotely had the thought that a back could at all be sexy. But looking at the delicate curves of Hermione’s back, following her spine down to the feminine flare of her hips, I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to run my hands up and down her back and -

“Er, so,” she said awkwardly.

“Yeah,” I agreed. More silence. So much for a quick resolution. Obviously this wasn’t the sort of thing that would be easily forgotten, even if I couldn’t remember the doing the thing itself.

After a second, she seemed to gather her composure. “Well, I’m going to clean up,” she said with an impressive display of dignity, and then got out of bed and began to pick her scattered clothing off the ground. The gentlemanly thing would have been to avert my eyes, and I did try, honest, but I found myself instead trying to get peeks of her body. I knew I was being a perve, but I couldn’t help it – Hermione has a nice body. The one rational part of my brain (the part that hadn’t degenerated into a mindless pig by this point) wondered why I had never noticed that before. I always knew Hermione was pretty, but when had she become sexy? I suppose the lack of clothing and flashes of skin had something to do with it.

Not once looking at me, she finally gathered her clothes into a pile in her arms and fled my bedroom, presumably off to the bathroom. I sat motionless of a moment, thinking about that glimpse of booty I got when she bent over to pick up her blouse, before I purged my head of those evil thoughts and got dressed. She was still in the bathroom when I exited my room, so I decided to whip up a little breakfast. Or brunch, considering the time. I had a couple of omelets sizzling on the frying pan when Hermione came out, looking a little disheveled but all too delectable. Okay, so maybe there were one or two evil thoughts still fluttering about in my skull.

“Hi,” I greeted her.

“Hi,” she said, taking a seat at the table. More silence. Once again, our great conversation skills, honed by years of friendship, were on display; apparently that whole I-got-drunk-and-slept-with-my-best-friend awkwardness hadn’t gone away yet.

“Is an omelet okay?” I asked, holding up the frying pan for her to inspect.

She nodded gratefully. “Yes, thank you.”

I finished cooking in silence, and then put the omelets on a two plates and got the pitcher of orange juice from the fridge. I sat across from her, and we gave each other a half-smile before starting to eat. The tension was almost palpable, and I was tempted to use a little Legilimency to see what she was thinking. The clatter of her fork hitting the plate startled me, and I looked up to see her looking rather determined. “This is just silly,” she said. “We’ve been friends forever. We should be able to talk about last night like two mature adults.”

I decided not to point out the fact that she oftentimes calls me immature. Heck, I can pretend to be mature with the best of them. “Yes, we should,” I agreed in my most adult-sounding voice. “Last night…” I began, unable to find the words to finish the thought.

“It was the alcohol.”

“Yes, the alcohol.”

“I’ve never drunk that much before-”

“Me either!”

“And it caused us to act not-like-ourselves.”

“Definitely.”

Pause.

“It was a one-time thing.”

“Yes it was.”

“An aberration.”

“A freak incident.”

“And it shouldn’t affect our friendship.”

“Of course not. Our friendship is too important to jeopardize with something like this.”

“Yes. It’s too important.”

Pause.

“And…I don’t think it’s necessary for anyone to know about-”

“Oh, I agree! We don’t have to tell a soul-”

“Like Ron-”

“Especially Ron.”

And then we ran out of things to say. We finished brunch quickly, as if in a race to see who could finish first, and then Hermione fled my flat while doing her best to act natural. I walked her to the door, and we mumbled our good-byes. As I watched her walk down the hallway and around the corner towards the elevators, I felt a sense of hope that this…incident wouldn’t ruin our friendship. Oh sure, it’d take a couple of days, maybe weeks, before we could put it completely behind us, but I’m sure we would, and then everything would go back to normal.

However, another thought crept into my brain as I watched her walk away, a thought I’d never had previously to this day. I couldn’t help but imagine what her backside looked like underneath those jeans she was wearing.

A/N: I’m sure my legion of fans (all two of you - hi!) has been wondering where I am. Oh…you say you haven’t noticed that I’ve been gone? I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. Anyways, work has been crazy in two ways: 1) too busy to write, and 2) stoopid firewall locks me out of not only the PK forums, but also ff.net and even schnoogle. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I can’t access the PK fanfics.

This story should be about five or six chapters, around 10k words.

Oh, and I responded to Heather Sinclair’s naughty little story with a not-so-naughty ficlet. In response to a criticism (since I can’t respond to reviews directly, so instead I subject you to it): Yes, it may seem shallow that Harry suddenly feels differently about Hermione just because of the letter, but it’s based on a time-honored premise that appears in almost every teen movie: feelings suddenly change when the ‘plain Jane’ becomes the prom queen (for references, please refer to She’s All That and…um… Cinderella? All right, so I’m not current on my teen movies, but I’m sure there are a lot out there). With Harry, who’s never known love, etc. etc., it takes more than Hermione getting dolled up for him to break out of ‘she’s like a sister’ mode. That letter was definitely enough to make Harry see Hermione not as just a best friend, which in turn allowed him to view her in a romantic fashion. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

## 2. Attempts at Normalcy

Hello to my ever-growing fanbase! Looks like I’m up to five or six now; Bec and Witchy, time to make more t-shirts!

Here’s part two. Enjoy!

Attempts at Normalcy

Later that afternoon, I sprinted to the library (okay, okay, I apparated; I’m sorta lazy) after I was hit with a sudden bit of inspiration that was totally unrelated to ‘the incident.’ As an Auror, I sometimes encounter victims or witnesses who have been subjected to memory charms. Standard procedure is to get the individual to St. Mungo’s, where the memory specialists would try and break the charms and restore the person’s memory. I thought it’d be handy if I could restore the memories myself, assuming the memory charm wasn’t too powerful. Hence, I found soon found myself in the library surrounded by stacks of books. Ron would surely have a coronary if he saw me.

After a couple of hours of research, I read an interesting passage. I found that if something interferes with the brain’s ability to capture a memory, for example if the person was drugged or otherwise incapacitated, that there was no way to restore the full memory. In other words, you couldn’t restore what was never there in the first place. After verifying that fact in a few other books, I decided that it would be best if I left the memory charms to the experts, and I left the library in search of food.

*****************

The first few days interacting Hermione were a little strained. There was definitely an awkwardness between us, and we had trouble maintaining eye contact. Anytime something of an adult nature was discussed, we would both blush slightly and look anywhere except at each other (although since I never looked at her, I suppose she might have looked at me, as I would not have noticed). Eventually though, time wore on and things gradually got back to normal; I think the fact that neither one of us could remember much about that night helped a lot.

Well, not everything was back to normal. It seems that the image of Hermione’s bare back had been burned permanently into my mind, and I couldn’t shake the image of her bending over to retrieve her clothes. I thought these images would go away after a while, but they never did. I knew I was fixating on the images because I was a guy and she was an attractive woman, but still! And even worse, even though outwardly nothing seemed to change between us, I couldn’t help but touch her. Now, I’m not a touchy-feely person by any measure - hugs still make me feel uncomfortable, even those from Mrs. Weasley. But God help me I couldn’t resist the compulsion to touch Hermione. Not in a rude or obscene manner, but I took almost every opportunity to touch her arm, her shoulder, or that wonderful (though woefully clothed) back.

Hermione, of course, was no dummy. From absence of physical contact to an overabundance of touching, I’m sure she noticed the change. To my relief though, she never mentioned or questioned my sudden change in behavior, nor did she seem to be repulsed or bothered by it. In fact, though it may have been my imagination, I could swear that she was responding in kind. It wasn’t anything overt – there weren’t more hugs or anything. But every now and then, she would touch my arm, or lean into me when looking at something over my shoulder. Or she would sit next to me and our legs would brush against each other, or our feet would accidentally touch. Yet, all the while we never acknowledged any change in our friendship or in the level of physical intimacy.

Finally, after another hazy and indistinct dream about ‘the incident,’ I realized that the current situation just had to stop. I wouldn’t quite call it sexual tension, but there was definitely something going on, and it was only a matter of time until other people started noticing it, if they haven’t already.

I decided to take the hippogriff by the horns…er, wait…hippogriffs don’t have horns. Okay, so what animal has horns? Er… … shoot, I should’ve paid more attention in Hagrid’s classes, though usually keeping all my limbs intact took higher precedence then taking notes. But that’s neither here nor there; the point was, I decided to be bold and address the situation directly. So, a couple weeks after the incident I asked Hermione to stop by after dinner. I had it all figured out…

Around 9pm that night, the doorbell rang. Although I had carefully planned the night, I was suddenly hit with a severe case of the nerves. I hadn’t been alone with Hermione since that night. Nevertheless, since I really couldn’t keep Hermione waiting all night in the hallway outside the flat (though I did briefly consider turning off the lights and pretending not to be home), I opened the door to welcome in my best friend.

“Hello Hermione,” I greeted her. “How are…” and words failed me for a moment. During my meticulous planning, I had envisioned how Hermione might look when she showed up. Sometimes I pictured her in her normal, comfortable clothes. Sometimes in a nice sundress or something similar. And once or twice, in something revealing and sexy (okay, so maybe more than once or twice – damn those evil thoughts!). But what she had on took me completely by surprise.

“Hello Harry,” she said in a formal tone of voice. Then, apparently noticing my stunned expression, she quirked an eyebrow and asked, “Something wrong?”

“Er…no, nothing,” I said, belatedly recovering my voice. “Come on in.” I tried my best to hide my reaction, but I couldn’t help it. A small snort of scarcely contained laughter escaped.

She turned and narrowed her eyes. “What’s so funny?”

Her indignant pose combined with her outfit made it harder for me to stop from laughing out loud. “Nothing,” I managed. “Nothing at all.”

She seemed to sense what was out of place; I mean, how could she not? After all, what was she thinking when she looked in the mirror? “Is it my clothes?” she asked, frowning.

I shook my head. “Oh no, not at all. You look fine,” I said. The smart thing would have been to leave the topic behind and move on, but I was never known for being the fastest broom on the Quidditch pitch. Er, actually I was, so that’s not a good analogy, but you know what I mean. Before I could stop myself, I added, “In fact, you look great, like a nun all dressed up for a night out at the local bingo hall.”

Hermione’s expression darkened, but come on! She was wearing a drab colored blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck, and some formless, shapeless dress/skirt thingie that made her look as curvy as a boulder. To top it off, she somehow managed to stuff her hair into a severe-looking bun. A part of me was amused at the lengths she went to in order to make herself look as unattractive as possible, another part of me was impressed at her success, and the last bit of me was oddly attracted to her in that get-up. Does that make me some sort of weirdo?

“Honestly Hermione, what did you think? That you had to wear the most unattractive clothes ever made in order to stop me from trying to rip off your clothes the second you entered my flat?” I asked, trying my best to act annoyed. It was a little difficult though, since now the image of me ripping her clothes off was firmly entrenched in my weak, feeble little mind.

Hermione blushed for a split second and then waved her hand airly around. “Of course not. I’ll have you know that a good friend of mine gave me this outfit and said that it looks very good on me, thank you very much.”

“And who would that be?” I asked innocently. “Professor McGonnagal?”

We locked eyes for a moment, before she looked away and chuckled sheepishly. “Yes, I suppose she does have her own…style.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “The grandmotherly-strict matron look is always popular. I hear Neville’s grandmother enjoys similar tastes.” That elicited a little bit of nervous laughter from her.

Finally, Hermione sighed and sat on my couch, her voluminous dress settling around her. “It is rather hideous, isn’t it?” she asked. I nodded as I sat – across from her of course, not next to her. “It’s just that…” she began, but seemed to have trouble finding the words.

“I know,” I said. “I feel it too.”

She smiled, relived that I seem to understand. “I just feel so...”

“Awkward,” I finished for her. “After that night, it’s like…” I wracked my brain for the words, but as it turned out, I didn’t need to.

“I don’t know how to act around you,” Hermione said, completing my thought. We both looked at each other and smiled a little, happy that at least something will never change.

I made a gesturing between the two of us. “It’s like we have one brain,” I said with a grin, alluding to our ability to finish each other’s sentences.

Hermione chuckled. “Correction,” she said. “I have one brain; I just let you and Ron borrow it sometimes.”

I gave her a look of mock surprise. “My goodness! Was that a joke from Minerva junior?”

She laughed and threw a pillow in my general direction. I clapped my hands together. “Seriously though, I think I have a solution to our problem. That’s why I asked you over, you know, not to admire your wonderful fashion sense.”

“Really?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

I grinned, all excited as a kid. “Wait here.” I dashed into the kitchen, where I retrieved the supplies. Returning to the living room, I placed the supplies carefully on the coffee table and smiled.

“This is your solution?” she asked.

“Yup,” I said proudly. I opened the bottle of champagne that I had brought and poured it into two glasses; there was also an assorted collection of wine and spirits as well.

Hermione shook her head. “So, your master plan is what? That we both get drunk again?” she asked skeptically. When I just continued to grin, her eyes widened. “You are not serious!”

“Of course I am,” I said. “You see, I think the problem is that, or at least, my problem is that I’m afraid of how I might react to you ever since that night.”

“And how exactly is getting drunk going to help?”

“Easy. We prove that what happened before was just a fluke, a one-time deal. We prove to ourselves that there’s absolutely no danger that it would happen again.” Seriously, this is a great plan! I was awfully proud of myself when I thought it up. I offered her the glass of champagne and waited for her response.

“You do realize, of course, that historically you’ve never devised a successful plan before?”

“What? Of course I have,” I said rather righteously. After all, one does not survive annual attempts at one’s life without some ability to plan.

“Oh really?” Hermione asked, an eyebrow arched in skepticism. “Name one,” she challenged.

Hah, I’ll show her! “Well…” Hmmm…maybe this was going to be a bit harder than I thought. But really, all I had to do was go through the school years, right? “Got one,” I said. “The basilisk. No one helped me come up with a plan to defeat the basilisk, did they?” I asked triumphantly.

“Oh right, the basilisk,” Hermione said, nodding her head. “And what was your plan, again?”

“Simple. I…uh…” Er, now that I think about it, technically I didn’t actually have a plan; I more or less just ran in there and winged it. Damn. Okay, third year – no, that was Hermione. Okay, fourth year – nope, definitely not my plan to get kidnapped. Fifth year – nothing. Sixth year – nada. Seventh year – zilch.

“Well,” I said defensively, “I’m about due for a successful plan then, aren’t I?” She gave me that ‘you have got to be kidding me’ look. “C’mon Hermione,” I pleaded. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

She just looked at me for a moment, before letting out another sigh. “All right,” she said, and though clearly not enthusiastic about my plan, she took the offered glass.

*************

## 3. The Best Laid Plans...

A/N: Here’s the next chapter. I was completely blown away by the reviews, so thanks to everyone who reviewed. Hope the outcome of Harry’s brilliant plan doesn’t come as too much of a shocker ;)

The Best Laid Plans…

Oy vey! Head…hurt…

Once again, history repeats itself, and I found myself in bed with a headache (though not nearly as bad as the first time). I shook my head gently from side-to-side and shut my eyes tightly, trying to get rid of the cobwebs in my brain. A slight shifting of the bed to my right told me that history repeated itself in another way as well. I turned my head to face the now familiar sight of Hermione, lying next to me in bed.

Ah well, so much for being due for a successful plan…planning is over-rated anyways, if you ask me. Besides, one thing I learned from Quidditch – besides the fact that falling hundreds of feet from your broom wasn’t quite like a trip to the Honeydukes, or that Ron is a right bastard when he’s in charge – is that strategy is one thing, execution is another. I mean, it’s not my fault the plan failed because I couldn’t keep my hands off Hermione. Er, wait…actually, I guess it is my fault. Whatever.

“Hi,” she said, first this time.

“Hi,” I replied, just like before. But there was one thing different this morning: Hermione didn’t immediately gather her clothing and leave, and I didn’t try to fill the silence with some awkward words. Instead, we just stared at each other, letting the situation sink in.

“Well,” I said, after a moment, “doesn’t seem like my plan worked out very well, did it?”

Hermione chuckled. “No, not quite.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “told you so.”

It was odd. I’m sure that we were supposed to be embarrassed at waking up next to each other naked, but I knew I wasn’t, and after knowing Hermione for years, I could tell that she wasn’t either. Maybe it was because we’d been through this before, but we were both strangely calm. “Hungry?” I asked.

She nodded. “Famished.”

I couldn’t help it. Probably not the best time to joke, but it slipped out: “Well, I’m sure we did work up an appetite after last night.”

To my relief, she chuckled. “Yes, I imagine so.”

We continued to look at each other, waiting. Finally, I asked, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you getting out of bed?”

“Me? You first this time.”

“Why me?”

“Because you already got a peek the first time.”

I laughed nervously and felt my cheeks heat up a bit, but I tried to play the innocent card. “What are you taking about?”

She smirked. “Don’t think I didn’t catch you trying to get a peek at me last time. You go first this time!”

I put on my ‘who, me?’ look that I’d perfected after years with the Dursleys. But Hermione wasn’t buying, so I sighed and started to get out of bed. Of course, I couldn’t leave without a fight.

“Hey!” Hermione shrieked as I started to pull off the blankets with me. “Nice try buster!”

“But I have to cover myself! If I can’t peek, neither can you.” I protested.

Her response was a pillow that was thrown in my general vicinity – Hermione is horrible at throwing things. “Fine,” I grumbled as I bent over to retrieve the pillow and my clothes.

“Woo hoo!” Hermione cheered, and I immediately straightened, grabbing the pillow to cover my delicates. I looked at her in shock, my face no doubt red by now. She just smiled sweetly and giggled.

Okay, let me repeat that, in case anyone missed what just happened: she giggled. Hermione Granger giggled. Hermione never giggles. What on earth was going on here? The whole situation was surreal: not only did we just sleep together (again!), but Hermione gives me a catcall and giggles. For a second I wondered if someone was using Polyjuice, but I dismissed that idea immediately; no one could impersonate my Hermione well enough to trick me. I shook my head in wonder as I left the room.

With a practiced ease, I had breakfast cooking by the time Hermione emerged from the bathroom. If there’s one thing that living with the Dursleys ever taught me (and no doubt they would be very disappointed to learn that anything positive came out the experience) is how to cook. In fact, I was a very skilled and versatile cook, if I do say so myself. Uncle Vernon was hardly the gourmet and pretty much liked anything meaty and charred. Dudley enjoyed sweets and pastries, and Aunt Petunia was a bit of a health nut and enjoyed fancier dishes. Thus, I could do anything from grilling a steak to baking a cake to preparing a nice seared salmon. And it’s a good thing that I was so good at cooking, because my mind was definitely distracted at the moment.

Because unlike last time, this time I could remember bits and pieces of what happened last night, and I was remembering more and more. I remembered the first few awkward drinks, and then how the night progressed as the alcohol started to take effect. How we were laughing like first years over some little thing, and then how she felt in my arms, her lips, the feeling of her soft hair in my hand, her hips…

I blinked a few times as I tried to focus on the task at hand. I flipped over the omelets and removed the bacon from the frying pan, and then checked how the French toast was coming along.

“Mmmm,” Hermione said as she entered the kitchen. “That smells good.”

I smiled at her but couldn’t help but wonder at the odd scene. It was almost like a normal breakfast together, except that she was wearing the same clothes she had on last night. Where was the awkwardness? Where was the embarrassment? Where were the blushes, the inability to meet each other’s eye? Despite the fact that we had just spent a very intimate, though alcohol-induced night together, breakfast was passed as if nothing unusual had just happened. Neither one of us brought up the results of my failed plan and instead dwelled on normal, everyday topics. I was starting to feel agitated – when would she bring it up? We had to talk about it, to make sure it didn’t ruin our friendship. I was practically a nervous wreck, but Hermione looked calm and content, just as if she had just learned we would have an exam next week. I knew the right thing to do would be to bring up the subject myself, but honestly, the chances of that ever happening are Flitwick (or, in other words, pretty damn small).

> Dragons and Dark Lords? No problem, let me at ‘em!

> Feelings and awkward situations? I’ll wait in the car.

Eventually the food was eaten and the plates cleared, and Hermione went off to start her day, leaving me very, very confused.

*******************

Two weeks later marked a birthday party at the Burrow. I wasn’t quite sure whose sprog was having a birthday, since there are so many of the now, but Ron told me it was one of Charlie’s. Of course, in once sense it really didn’t matter since Hermione always took care of the gifts, and I just chipped in.

Since the ‘sequel to the incident,’ Hermione and I haven’t spent any time alone together, just like before. However, last time was because we were both actively avoiding such situations; this time, it’s just how things turned out. And this time was much improved. True, we still haven’t discussed or even referred to the incident, but at least there wasn’t that sense of awkwardness between us; just a lot of confusion on my part. Our friendship seemed as strong as ever, but somehow I knew it couldn’t last. After all, when you keep having images of your best friend in her birthday suit bouncing about in your head (and when I say bouncing, I mean bouncing, if you know what I mean), it’s bound to have some impact on the friendship.

But instead, everything seemed back to normal between us. Except for the touching. Damn the touching! No matter what, no matter what I tried, I couldn’t help but reach out and touch her – the small of her back, a brush of the hands, it was like an addiction. And frankly, it was quite irritating. Not the touching itself, which was actually very nice. No, the irritating part was that I couldn’t stop myself! And I knew, deep inside, that all this touching was a warning sign that the sequel might someday become a trilogy. Now, it’s not that I didn’t enjoy the first two installments (well, I assume I enjoyed the first one), but this was Hermione. Over the years, her and Ron have been the only two people I could truly count on. That friendship was far more important than a roll in the hay. A few nights of shagging wasn’t worth the risk.

So it is with such worries rattling around my brain that I arrived at the Burrow. The backyard was set up for a children’s party, and all the Weasley cousins (and Fred and George, who really are children) were playing various games. Most of the adults spent the time indoors, mingling and catching up on news. With six Weasley siblings (or is it eight? I forget) and the seemingly countless little ones running about, it’s invariable that someone has something new to share to the group. Add in spouses and cousins and friends and so forth, and the Burrow was bursting to its limits.

Eventually one of the little ones asked me to come outside and play. I followed the little guy, but paused at the entrance to the backyard to take it all it. While the laughter of the children always warmed my heart, there are times when I can’t help but compare the scene before me to my own childhood. Birthday parties and games were things I never had, and I mourned my lost childhood. I sighed softly.

“You okay?” Hermione asked, appearing at my side.

I nodded. “Yeah, fine.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I think it came out sounding as forced as it was.

Hermione didn’t ask further, respecting my privacy. Plus, I’m sure she knew what I was thinking, and that there really wasn’t anything that could be done. So instead, she wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head against my shoulder, lending me her emotional support.

And for some reason, I think her hug loosened one of those emotional walls I have, because – damn it! – a friggin’ tear escaped my eye. Fortunately it was only a single, but still! Grown men do not cry from watching kids play. Next thing you know I’ll be curled up on the couch, eating chocolates and watching soap operas with rollers in my hair! I quickly brushed at my cheek to wipe away the offending tear, but despite those famed Seeker reflexes of mine, Hermione noticed. She gently pulled on my arm.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere,” she said. Not having any other plans at the moment (the child having forgotten me immediately upon setting foot outside…the little punk), I allowed her to pull me through the house until we found a deserted room – Bill’s old room, if I’m not mistaken. I was a little nervous when she sat us on the bed together, but to my relief I didn’t feel the stirrings of passion…or, to put it more succinctly, I didn’t feel the urge to shag her. It really was a relief, since this signified that our friendship was more important to me then sex.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. I looked at her, which caused her to laugh. “Oh, right, sorry,” she said. “I forgot that I was talking to Harry Potter, Mr. Repressed Emotions himself.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” I protested. She gave me a look, which caused me to wilt. “Oh all right. I’ll grant that sometimes I tend to keep my feelings to myself.”

“Sometimes?” she parroted.

I grinned. “Okay, so always,” I said, looking down.

“That’s better,” she said a bit smugly. And, just like old times, we fell into a companionable silence. It was nice; no pressures of sex or anything, just two friends being together. After a moment I looked up at her, and something clicked. To this day, I’ll never understand what happened; it makes no sense to me whatsoever. But one second, we were just like we always were – best friends. But in the space of a millisecond, it changed.

Our mouths were suddenly on each other. She kissed me, or maybe I kissed her; I don’t think I’ll ever know who initiated it, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. For all of a sudden I couldn’t get enough of my best friend. And these weren’t the gentle, loving kisses that accompany a slow Barry White song, or the soft, tentative kisses like in the movies. Oh no, these were passionate, dare I say, lustful kisses. This was a ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ moment. Our mouths never stopped, moving from lips to neck and back again. Our hands were pawing at each other’s clothes, and at the rate we were going, we would both be in various states of undress in a matter of seconds. Where on earth did this come from? Some part of me was yelling at me to stop, but the other, bigger part of pretty much kicked the crap out of that nerdy first part and stuffed it into a little box. It was only a loud thump on the stairs that broke us out of our lust-induced trance.

We pulled apart at the noise, panting heavily as we looked at each other. God I wanted her so badly at the moment, damn the consequences, but I was a little thankful to whoever made that loud noise, knowing it would bring us back to our senses. I knew we would pull apart, blush, fix our clothing, and go downstairs, and then try to act as if nothing had happened. Instead, Hermione looked at me, and said the four words I never thought I’d ever hear from her: “Your place of mine?” Hesitation wasn’t even in my vocabulary by then. Without bothering to waste precious seconds on forming words, I just grabbed her and disapparated us to my bedroom.

*****************

A/N: So, it’s a general rule of thumb that if you have to explain a joke, it’s probably not that funny. I think I was being too clever for my own good. Anyone catch the real reason why Harry went to the library at the beginning of chapter two? He claims it’s work-related, but he’s really trying to see if he can get his memory back. Once he finds out that he can’t, he abandons his altruistic project for lunch. Funny, right? Right? Hello? Bueller?…..Bueller?

Anyways, a few general comments in response to some reviews:

> · Hi Bec and Aly! <throws out new t-shirts to the (ahem) adoring crowd > Bec, I think that maybe you should regulate Aly’s caffeine and/or sugar intake, though I do love the exuberance!

> · Ron will definitely complicate things, but not in the way you might think. I don’t think I’ll ever write a jealous Ron, simply because I’d end up writing it like a bad soap opera.

> · Sorry, no POV from Hermione or anyone else. I think I can only do justice to Harry, since we share a sarcastic sense of humor (refer to OotP for examples of Harry’s sarcasm).

> · The story should be six chapters. Next chapter should be up Tuesday or Wednesday of next week. I don’t think I’ll have time to complete it by Friday, and I can’t write on weekends or holidays.

> · I may be under forty, but they had Batman on re-runs while I was growing up. I liked it when they had the crossover with the Green Hornet, but seriously! Like Robin stood a chance in hell against Kato!

> · Hi CC! I’m such a horrible person for never reviewing, but I love all your fics, even Handholding, which made a little bit of dust get in my eye.

> · Thanks for rec Kris! It really means a lot :)

> · Write more stories Nelli! I loved Bedside Table

> · Hi Umbra_Dea!

> · Hi Anasazi! Seriously, if I could apparate, I’d never walk more than 40 yards in a row.

> · Oh, and I didn’t intend for the title of this chapter to have a double-meaning, but it’s kinda cool how it worked out, no?

Thanks for reading! Now, I’m off to do some work before I get fired.

## 4. Still the Best of Friends...Now with Benefits!

A/N: Despite working like a dog, I got the next chapter out. Who da man? WHO DA MAN?! Oops, sorry, I need to act my age.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed: you make writing worth writing (if that makes any sense). Anyways, here’s the next chapter. I sorta experimented with the style in the first part of this chapter, but don’t worry, it won’t happen again, and hopefully it makes sense as well.

******

Still the Best of Friends…Now with Benefits!

“Well.”

“Yes. Well.”

“That was…unexpected.”

“Mm-hmm. Unexpected.”

“…”

“Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Er…never mind.”

“What is it Harry?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Forget it.”

“Harry Potter, you better tell me.”

“Really Hermione, it’s noth – hey! Wait! Don’t…stop…all right, all right, I’ll tell!”

“…”

“Well?”

“Oh, right. Erm…Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Was it…I mean, did you like…erm…”

“Yes, Harry. It was wonderful.”

“It was?”

“It was.”

“Did you…you know.”

“Did I what?”

“Did you…finish?”

“Yes Harry. Twice.”

“Twice?”

“Twice.”

“Really?”

“Well…”

“Oh.”

“No, it was definitely once, and I think a little one after…like a short, but sweet encore.”

“Ah, okay.”

“You’re looking awfully proud of yourself.”

“Well, when you got it, you got it. Ow!”

“…”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Did you…did you like it?”

“Me? Well, let me put it this way: you know how the guys back at Hogwarts sometimes talked about this?”

“What guys?”

“That’s not important Hermione.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyways, the guys sometimes talked about this. But with you, it was infinitely better then how they described.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…like comparing Ron’s singing to Phoenix song. No comparison.”

“Good.”

“…”

“Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“What does this…what does this mean?”

“What do you mean?”

“What does this do to our friendship? Your friendship means everything to me; I don’t want to risk it because of what happened.”

“Oh Harry…your friendship means the world to me too. This won’t ruin anything; I mean, it’s happened before and we’re still friends, right? Even if we don’t remember what happened. However…”

“Yes?”

“It’s probably best if this was the last time, you know?”

“Yeah. You’re right. We wouldn’t want to risk it anymore.”

“…”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“What are you…ooh...doing?”

“Giving you a massage. You don’t like it?”

“No…it’s not…I mean, we shouldn’t…you should…oh, never mind.”

“…”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“What’s that?”

“Hermione, I can’t believe that you don’t know what that is. After all, you were intimately acquainted with that just a few minute ago.”

“Harry, I know what that is; why is it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like…you know…awake?”

“Why not?”

“I thought…I thought afterwards, it takes a long time…?”

“Oh. Yeah, it usually does, but it’s your fault, you know.”

“My fault!?”

“Yes, with all your whimpering and wiggling around.”

“Well, you were massaging me.”

“So? You didn’t have to move around or make sexy noises.”

“Oh, you think I’m sexy now?”

“Well, you’re noises at least.”

“Just my noises?”

“Okay, I suppose there are a few other things too.”

“Ah. Well then, if it’s my fault that he’s awake now, I imagine it’s up to me to do something about it, right?”

“I imagine so.”

“How’s…this?”

“Ah…it’s…it’s…a start.”

******************

“Hawrbry..whc pr”

“…”

“Hwweryb rwb”

“…”

“Harry…wkenwe”

“…”

“Harry wake up!”

“Hm? Wha?”

“Wakie wakie Harry.”

“Wha…what time is it?”

“Almost dinnertime.”

“Oh.”

“We should get up.”

“What? Why?!”

“If we hurry, we can still make it back to the Burrow before the party ends. But we have to come up with a good excuse first for where we’ve been.”

“And what we’ve been doing.”

“Yes, that too.”

“Urgh. Okay fine. You’re right. We should go.”

“Okay. Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn. Around.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes I am. Turn around.”

“Hermione, after what we just did, twice I might add, you still want me to turn around?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

“Yes, but that was different. That was – what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Hermione, I’m just trying to explain that I’ve seen this…and this…and especially, this.”

“Harry, we have to go…”

“And not only did I see them, but I also did this to them…and this…and this…”

“Harry, you have to stop…we can’t…hey! Why’d you stop!?”

“Well, you did say that the last time was the last time.”

“Oh. Oh, I did, didn’t I? Well, I think you misunderstood me.”

“I did?”

“Oh yes indeed. When I said the ‘last’ time, I actually meant today would be the last time.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“As in the whole day?”

“Yes.”

“Ah…well, my apologies then. It’s all clear now. What time is it again?”

“Um…almost six.”

“So we have about six hours until midnight, then?”

“I believe we do.”

“I don’t think I want to go to the Burrow anymore.”

“Me either.”

******************

Six weeks later found me outside the interrogation room at the Ministry of Magic. Earlier in the morning, a drifter was picked up south of London who matched the description of a wizard wanted for questioning on a case of mine. In order to get the information I wanted, I had to play the ‘scary and intimidating’ Harry; unfortunately, I was currently the ‘aroused and subsequently creepy’ Harry.

It wasn’t my fault, honest. It was all Hermione’s fault. Ever since that ‘last time,’ we’ve had more than a dozen ‘last times.’ By this point, we have about three ‘last times’ a week, and, as it was Tuesday, I was thinking about the ‘last time’ we would have tonight, explaining my current state of arousal.

At first, I resisted the idea of spending another one of those nights with her. Despite what she said, how could sleeping together not affect our friendship? I was more than prepared to fight the attraction and keep things on truly friends-only level. I knew what I had to do. My willpower was strong. My determination was high. My resolve was unbreakable.

For about two days, anyways. I truly am weak.

Hermione’s really something. Although I always appreciated her studious nature (wouldn’t have done nearly as well in school without her), it wasn’t until she applied her research skills to our nocturnal activities when the true benefits became evident. I would have thought that Hermione’s preferences in the bed would be rather tame – she seems the rather tame type, y‘know? But, to my pleasant surprise, she was quite the experimenter. She would often have suggestions or ideas that I was more than eager to help explore. And tonight, she would be wearing her Hogwarts uniform with those shiny leather shoes, knee-length stockings, and her Prefect’s badge. Naughty Harry’s been caught out after curfew…

Ah well. With that image now in my head, any semblance of professionalism was hopelessly out-of-reach. But I had to try; I had a job to do.

God, sometimes I hate my job.

******************

Hermione and I have been sharing a bed for about three months now, and there didn’t seem to be an adverse effect on our friendship. True, we haven’t exactly discussed what exactly was going on here - what it means - but that was fine with me. Life was going well which, since my name is Harry Potter, obviously meant that something had to go wrong. Hermione and I were over at Ron’s place one Saturday afternoon when that tall, gangly redheaded dummy tried to ruin my life.

It was once suggested that Ronald Weasley had the emotional range of a teaspoon, though I shouldn’t judge since I’m not exactly on speaking terms with my own emotions. But back to Ron. Despite being the best friend of both Hermione and myself, he somehow managed to miss the fact that Hermione and I were keeping a rather significant portion of our relationship from him. So far, his obliviousness was an asset. Unfortunately, it would soon become a liability.

“Hermione, I found the perfect wizard for you,” he said rather gleefully as we sat down to lunch.

I choked a little on the orange juice I was sipping. I looked over to Hermione to gauge her reaction. She met my eyes for a second before replying to Ron.

“Ron, you know I’m not interested in a blind date.”

“C’mon Hermione, you haven’t been on a date in months! And besides, Evan isn’t blind; he can see perfectly well.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but I caught her eye and shook my head slightly; if Ron still can’t figure out a telephone or pronounce the word ‘electricity,’ then I’d say he’s a lost cause when it comes to all things Muggle.

“Well,” Hermione said, deciding to let the ‘blind’ comment pass by, “unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to go out on a date every week.”

“Surely you’re not referring to me, are you?” Ron asked innocently.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said. “Sometimes you wait a week and half between dates.”

“Ha, ha,” Ron said. “But seriously Hermione, it isn’t healthy.”

“Isn’t healthy? Need I remind you about the health dangers involved with dating multiple witches without-”

“No no!” Ron said quickly, interrupting Hermione. “Maybe ‘healthy’ wasn’t the right word.”

“Then what is the right word?” Hermione challenged.

Ron was silent for a second, before obviously coming up empty. “All I’m saying is that I know a nice wizard who would be perfect for you. He works for Fred and George.”

“No thanks.”

“C’mon Harry, help me out. Don’t you think Hermione should go out on a date?” Ron said, looking to me for support. It suddenly felt like there was a spotlight on me, and now I knew what all the suspects I questioned must feel like. Talk about pressure! If I say no, then Ron might suspect something, wondering why I wouldn’t want Hermione to go out on a date. But if I said yes, then Hermione might be mad at me and - wait, what am I thinking? Hermione and I aren’t dating, so she wouldn’t care either way. We’re just best friends. Phew, no problem.

“Yes I do,” I said rather proudly, having figured out the right answer all by myself.

Hermione looked at me a moment, her expression blank. Then she looked at Ron and smiled. “In that case, tell your friend I’d love to go out on a date with him.”

At that point, Ron started to tell Hermione all about Mr. Wonderful. I knew I had made the right decision by saying she should go out on the date, but for some reason, I couldn’t help but think maybe it was a little less ‘right’ then I thought.

*********

> A/N: Sorry it’s a bit of a short chapter; I find it’s a lot harder to write long chapters in 1st person then in 3rd person – no narrative to fill up pages. Anyways, this seemed a good place to stop, and I couldn’t think of anything to add. Unfortunately I have to get back to work so I can’t write a lot here, but…

> First, a big Thank you! to tome_raider, who mentioned me in her nifty LJ. Because of the firewall here at work, I can’t access LJ except through my little cell phone, so I can never respond. But I wanted to let you know I definitely appreciate everything you’ve ever written about my stories.

> And second, hi gallandro_83! Unfortunately, because of that same firewall, I can’t access ff.net so I can’t update anything there. But sorry, I don’t think I’ll ever go back to CoC. I regret leaving it unfinished, but I lack the motivation.

> Have a safe holiday weekend (in the States) and see you next week!

## 5. Something Wicked This Way Comes

A/N: What is that great big ball of fire in the sky? Oh, I remember, it’s the sun! Sorry for the long delay, been working crazy lately, and it feels like I haven’t seen the sun in quite a while. Here’s the next bit. Enjoy and don’t forget to review (and by review, I really mean to feed my ego and tell me how funny I am).

Something Wicked This Way Comes

I was standing in the hallway leading to the door when I felt it. There was a tingle along my spine, and the little hairs rose on the back of my neck. After over a decade of fighting evil, I knew I could trust my senses when they screamed danger, and right now they were screaming like Mandrakes, but without the ‘cry being fatal to humans’ thing. My heart rate sped up as the adrenaline started pumping through my blood. My hand itched to grab my wand, but I didn’t want to seem too obvious just yet; better to maintain the element of surprise. Cautiously, I approached the window and looked outside.

There he was. My eyes narrowed as I watched my quarry approach. I knew that anything or anyone I could ever face would seem like a piece of cake after facing down Voldemort, but I couldn’t let myself get overconfident. All it took was a false step, a bit of bad luck, and then it’d be over for me. After a week of anticipation, of waiting and planning, the moment was almost here. I tensed as he got closer, and I willed my body to relax. I couldn’t let him know that I was on to him. Slowly I turned the knob and opened the door.

He looked at me. “Harry Potter? It’s an honor to meet you,” he practically gushed. “My name is Evan Carlson. Is Hermione here?”

I eyed him carefully, wondering if he was on something or not. Before I could reply, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Ah! Evan! Good to see you!” Ron said, nudging me aside so Evan could enter the flat. “This is Hermione. Hermione, this is the guy I’ve been talking about.”

As Hermione and Carlson traded greetings, I looked him over. He was tall and had hair. Oh yeah. I could kick his ass, with or without magic. As they started to move into the living room, I spoke up.

“Why don’t you go ahead and make yourself at home Evan?” I asked in a very polite tone. “I need to talk to Ron and Hermione for a second.”

Evan looked a little surprised, but he knew better than to test me…he knew I could take him without breaking a sweat, the little punk. He nodded and walked into the living room, leaving the three of us with a little privacy.

“Harry Potter, that was very rude of you!” Hermione accused as soon as Evan was out of earshot.

“He’s evil,” I said simply.

“Evil?” the two of them repeated.

I nodded wisely.

“But…but…he’s an accountant!” Ron said incredulously.

I nodded wisely - again. “Accountants can be evil too,” I said in a weighty, ‘trust-me-I’ve-seen-it-before’ kind of way. Although it took a few seconds to process, I could tell that Ron believed me. He trusted my decade-long experience fighting the Dark Arts and my Auror training. He knew that I would recognize evil when I saw it.

I could sense, though, that Hermione may have some doubts about my assessment of Carlson. My biggest clue was when she looked at me and said, “You’re being stupid,” before walking away.

Ron gave me a somewhat perplexed look, thrown off by Hermione insulting one of us and it not being him. “So, what do we do now? Call for backup?”

I shook my head. “No proof yet. Just act natural.”

Ron nodded and walked into the main room with me close on his heels. Hermione was sitting on the couch next to Carlson, talking. Or so it seemed. I didn’t immediately sense any Dark Magic floating around, so I relaxed slightly. “So,” Ron said upon entering, “anyone want anything to drink? I have butterbeer, pumpkin juice, or…nettle wine. Evan?”

“Sure,” Carlson replied. “Some of the wine sounds great.”

“AH HA!” Ron cried triumphantly, pointing an accusatory finger at Carlson. When we all stared at him blankly, he flushed a little. “Er, right then. Wine it is. Anyone else?”

After I indicated that I would like a butterbeer and Hermione shook her head, Ron left to get the drinks and to reclaim whatever remained of his dignity. I sat down across from Carlson. “Ron tells us you work with Fred and George?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Never a dull moment around those two, eh?” I tried to catch his eyes, but he kept looking between Hermione and me.

Carlson nodded, a wry smile on his face. “Yeah. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been used as a guinea pig, often times without any foreknowledge.”

Hermione frowned slightly while I nodded in exasperation. I imagine that they both thought my irritation was due to Fred and George’s antics, but really it was because the damned fool had the shiftiest eyes since Peter Pettigrew - I couldn’t maintain eye contact long enough to do a little passive legilimency on the smarmy bastard.

Carlson continued to drone on and on about his incredibly boring life. I managed to hold eye contact a few times and caught a few glimpses of him at work, studying, or listening to the Wireless. Man, what a dud! He better be evil; otherwise, he’s the dullest wizard I ever met. Finally Ron returned, drinks in hand. After handing out the beverages, he sat next to me and looked at Carlson. “Well then,” Ron said. “How about that Lord Voldemort?”

And for the second time in as many weeks, Ron Weasley caused me to nearly choke on my drink. Hermione looked alarmed, and Carlson made an odd squeaking sound. Once again, we all looked at Ron blankly, which was a mistake, since he took it as an invitation to continue. “So, anyways, that Lord Voldemort. He was one crazy guy, huh? What do you think? Was he crazy, or did he have some valid points?”

It took a massive amount of willpower to stop myself from slapping my forehead and shaking my head. Ron is many things, but subtle is not one of them. Hermione still looked to be in shock, as if wondering whether or not what happened had really happened, or if it was all in her imagination. Carlson looked a little ill and still trying to recover from hearing ‘Voldemort’ twice in quick succession. I swear, if Ron could shine a light in Carlson’s face, he would have. “Well?” Ron asked.

“Erm, yeah?”

“What do you think?”

“Um…he was crazy?”

“Sure, sure,” Ron said quickly. “But what about some of his views and methods and -”

“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione exploded, finally accepting that this wasn’t some sort of odd dream sequence.

Ron cringed.

“I’m sorry Evan, I honestly don’t know what got into him,” Hermione said, shooting me a piercing glare. Waitasecond! Why was she glaring at me? I didn’t do anything!

“Hey!” I protested. “What did I do?”

“You encouraged him. You should know better.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she did have a point: I should have known better. Instead, I shrugged.

“Anyways,” Hermione said, giving us both one last glare, “we should be going now, right Evan?”

“Er, yeah,” Carlson said, looking a bit flummoxed. “We have reservations at seven. Well, it’s been great talking to you,” he said awkwardly as he escorted Hermione to the door. After he and Hermione had passed us, I slapped Ron across the top of his big empty shell of a head.

“Hey!” Ron whispered.

“Dummy!”

“I was just trying to help!”

“Well stop ‘trying’ and do something useful!”

“Shut it!”

“You!”

“You!”

“Shh!” Hermione hissed at us, then turned back to Carlson. “They can both be so childish sometimes. I swear…” We both shut up, but exchanged a few arm-punches until we reached the foyer.

Then Carlson turned around.

He had a strange, manic glint in his eyes, and I felt an icy ball of fear lodge itself in my chest. “You are a fool, Potter!” he cried out, darkness spreading like a stain behind him and engulfing us in its malevolent shadows. “The Dark can never be defeated. Never! The Dark Lord shall be avenged with the blood of those you hold dear!” His cackling laugh filled me with dread, but I was rooted to the spot, I couldn’t move. So I could only watch helplessly as Carlson turned and grabbed Hermione painfully by the arm and dragged her out of the door and into the darkness that he had created, vanishing into the blackness.

Okay, not really.

I suppose if you want to be all technical about it, what Carlson said was, “Well, it was nice to see you again Ron, and it was nice to meet you Harry. I promise I’ll have her back by curfew. Ha. Ha. Ha.” But you have to be able to read between the lines.

We watched until Hermione and Carlson zipped away in Carlson’s car, and then Ron turned to me. “So, what do we do now? Call for backup?” he asked again.

I shook my head. “Still no proof. But don’t worry, I know exactly what to do…”

***********

> A/N: Yup, you guessed it. Harry has another plan to deal with the ‘evil’ Evan Carlson. Will he be able to save Hermione, or will his success rate (or lack thereof) continue? Stay tuned!

## 6. The Bodyguard

A/N: I suppose while not being busy will hurt my chances of a nice bonus, on the other hand it does let me write. Thanks to everyone for the ego boost! Now you can tell me how dashingly handsome and charming I am ;)

Oh, and I just found that it says in the Bible: “thou who doth readeth thy fanfiction yet reviewth not shall forever be condemned to Hermione/Grwap and Harry/Giant Squid fictions for all of eternity.” So review, unless you’re into Hermione/Grwap and Harry/Giant Squid stories, which probably means you have more pressing issues to deal with.

This chapter is mostly narration (less thoughts) and therefore there is less humor then in prior chapters, so it should be safe to read while at work. Enjoy!

***************

The Bodyguard

So, when I told Ron that I knew ‘exactly’ what to do, it was more of a vague notion rather than an actual plan of action. I had learned early on to leave all the complicated plans to the expert, and since the expert in question probably wouldn’t appreciate my selfless actions on her behalf, it was up to me. I could have asked Ron for some help in developing a plan, but really, unless we were devising a strategy to eat as much food as possible while playing strip-Quidditch with a bunch of Veelas, Ron’s input wasn’t really that useful (though, to his credit we are on version 4 of the previously mentioned Operation: Veela Feast). And since I learned earlier that my plans weren’t much better, I decided to rely on the tried-and-true method of ‘playing it by ear.’

Fortunately, I happened to have my handy Invisibility Cloak with me. Call it a hunch, but I just had a feeling that I might need the old girl today. I mean, it’s not like I was planning on following Hermione on her ‘date,’ y’know? But when I saw Carlson drink from that wine glass, I knew she might be in trouble. Honestly, what kind of wizard holds a wine glass with his pinky finger sticking out like that? An evil one, that’s what!

After bidding an anxious Ron adieu, I dramatically whipped the cloak around me (it looks cooler that way, rather then just draping it over my shoulders) and began apparating in quick, little jumps until I had caught up with Carlson’s car. I quickly recognized the route they were taking and saw they were heading towards Diagon Alley. I apparated ahead of them, a plan finally taking shape in my mind.

I apparated directly into the store and took off my cloak, scaring two teenagers who were browsing. I inwardly sighed when I saw the two owners come out to see what the commotion was about - I was hoping neither of them would be there.

“Hey Harry!” greeted Fred.

“Didn’t hear you come in,” said George.

“How are you?” finished Fred.

“Good, good. Look, I’m in a bit of a hurry, just gotta pick a few things up,” I said quickly, rummaging through the shelves.

“Oooh, lookie here Fred, we don’t see Harry for ages -”

“And when we do, he’s too busy for the likes of us!”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” I mumbled grabbing a few things and making my way to the front. I was not in the mood. Hermione could be dead by now! Or worse – expelled! Er wait, wrong line. Heh, I swear, that never gets old. Anyways, back to the current situation. “Just these please,” I said as the twins moved to the other side of the counter to ring me up.

“All right Harry?”

“Yeah, you seem a bit -”

“Out of sorts. Is there anything -”

“We can do to help?”

Jeez, can’t these two finish a complete sentence on their own? It was a bit like watching a tennis match and was starting to give me a headache. “No, I’m fine just in a hurry gotta go thanks!” I said in rapid succession and apparated away before they could get into a ‘Who’s on First?’-type routine. I appeared next to the entrance from the Leaky Cauldron and just barely managed to whip on my invisibility cloak (it really does look cool) before the wall opened up and Hermione and what’s-his-name walked through. I followed at a discrete distance as the two of them walked down the Alley. They weren’t holding hands, but they were walking a little too closely together. It was time to start protecting Hermione.

I maneuvered around until I was slightly off to the side of Carlson. Fortunately, Diagon Alley wasn’t too busy, so I didn’t have any problems moving in the cloak. I watched closely until the timing was perfect, and they cast a very gentle Banishing Spell at Carlson’s right hand. It wasn’t nearly strong enough to throw him off his feet, just enough to nudge his hand away from his body…and right into Hermione’s derriere.

She jumped a little and gave Carlson a dirty look. Unfortunately there was no slapping. I couldn’t see his reaction or hear what he said, but whatever it was, it seemed to appease Hermione a little. She gave him a curt nod and they continued walking, but at least there was more distance between them now.

They continued to walk down the Alley until they reached the restaurant. I was a little impressed despite myself – Micheal’s Corner was a very fancy and expensive restaurant. Evil must pay better these days. I watched as Carlson talked to the maître d', and after a moment, Hermione and Carlson took a seat in the waiting area. When I saw the maître d' leave his post, I was hit with a sudden flash of inspiration.

After apparating soundlessly behind him, I made sure Hermione couldn’t see me before I removed the cloak and tapped him on the shoulder. He made a rather unmanly squeaky sound and spun around.

“Oh dear, you scared me!” he said. “Can I help you?”

As I didn’t have time to be subtle, I decided to go for effectively blunt instead. “My name is Harry Potter,” I said, pointing to the scar. I waited the obligatory seconds for the maître d' to look at the scar, recognize who I am, and then stutter in awe. “Right, right,” I said quickly. “I need a favor.”

“Anything, Mr. Potter. Anything at all,” he gushed.

“That couple you just asked to wait, Carlson?”

“Yes?”

“I would like for you to keep them waiting.”

“Sir?” He looked confused. I decided to help clear things up.

I stuck out my hand. “It would mean a lot to me if you kept them waiting for a table for a long time, after which there unfortunately won’t be a table available,” I said, while slipping him a few galleons through the handshake. And let me tell you, bribing someone with big, clunky gold coins is a lot harder than with paper money. However, it did the trick, and the maître d' smiled broadly. Sometimes it’s good being rich and famous.

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Potter. Will you be staying for dinner?”

I shook my head. “No. And once again, I appreciate this.” I finally got out of there after signing an autograph and took a perch near the bar, draped once again under the cloak. I watched as the maître d' approached Carlson. He stood up, assuming a table was ready, but his face clouded somewhat as the maître d' apparently told him there would be a wait.

That seemed to do the trick. While no one likes to be kept waiting or have their time wasted, Hermione in particular had little patience for things like that. And though she kept a polite, understanding demeanor throughout the one-hour wait, I could see her irritation grow, especially when the maître d' told them that there wouldn’t be a table available for another hour. I could see Carlson was angry (with reason), but I could also tell he was torn between the choice of yelling at the maître d' or not wanting to cause a scene in front of Hermione. He evidently chose against throwing a tizzy-fit, and he led an obviously unhappy Hermione out the door.

I followed them until they reached a little outdoor café and found seats within minutes. I imagine at this time Hermione was a little crabby, since she’s not at her most pleasant when she’s hungry. I listened in as they ordered their food and followed the waitress back to the kitchen, where I tracked the progress of their meal and added a few of my own special ‘ingredients’ to Carlson’s meal. Then, I found a nice place to stand and just watched.

A few second after Carlson took a bite from his steak, it happened. The sound ripped through the café, loud enough to cause passers-by to stop and stare; Hermione’s face was a mixture of distaste and embarrassment. Nothing like one of Fred and George’s patented Flatulence Figs to liven up a date, suitable puréed and added to a nice steak sauce.

Fortunately for all concerned, the Figs were designed to only produce the sound (and wind), not the smell. After all, the prank is supposed to be embarrassing to the victim, not cause pain to everyone around the victim. Carlson’s face turned noticeable red, but alas for the poor accountant, there was little he could do for the next ten minutes until the effects wore off. I couldn’t help chortle like a first-year while the symphony of sounds continued, and I could tell it was taking a massive amount of effort on Hermione’s part to stop her from bolting from her seat.

And then, Carlson took a drink from his wine glass. Almost immediately, he began sweating. And I’m not talking about a little perspiration. I’m talking about playing-Beater-for-three-hours-beneath-a-sweltering sun kinds of sweat. It was even a cool day. Ah, Sweating Sweets in action. I figured there’s nothing a little flatulence and a lot of sweat to kill a developing romance. But just in case, I smiled in anticipation as Carlson ate some of his mashed potato.

Oops. I guess I went a little overboard with the Nosebleed Nougats (ground into a nice powder and spread over his potatoes) as I watched the blood stream down his nose and into his food. Maybe one Nougat would have been good enough instead of four. I cast a quick spell from underneath my cloak to dispel the effects of the candy while Hermione grabbed a napkin and put it underneath Carlson’s nose.

But no matter, the dinner (and hopefully the date) was ruined beyond repair - Hermione would be safe. After she hastily paid for dinner (despite Carlson’s efforts), they walked back to Hermione’s flat. I apparated ahead while they took the elevator, and I watched as Hermione gave him a handshake (a handshake! Yippee!) before Carlson took the elevator down. Finally! A successful plan! I couldn’t help but give myself the proverbial pat-on-the-back for my quick thinking and flawless execution. Sometimes, I even impress myself! I mean really, how many –

“Accio invisibility cloak!”

- wizards out there could not only defeat the darkest wizard twice before turning twenty, but also orchestrate such a -

Waitaminute! What did Hermione just say? Crap! I made a futile attempt to grab at my invisibility cloak, but it was already half-off and flying towards Hermione by the time I moved a finger.

This was not good. But I did not panic. I’ve been in worse situations then this. Okay, okay, time to come up with a good excuse. A good excuse to explain why I was crouched over like a squirrel in the hallway outside of Hermione’s flat underneath my invisibility cloak. Um…

Yeah. I got nothing.

Help?

***************

A/N: I suppose if people thought the last chapter had a cliffie, they probably won’t like this ending. Anywho, after seeing a few of the reviews, I just wanted to clear a few things up.

First, Harry cannot admit feelings that he doesn’t know that he has. While true he’s probably more oblivious then realistic, I attribute it to the fact that he’s never seen romantic love in action, so he doesn’t recognize it when it’s upon him (Mr. and Mrs. Weasley don’t count, since they’re probably too old for good old fashioned PDA). Harry needs to realize how he feels before he can tell Hermione. As for Hermione, we don’t know what she feels, since this is all from Harry’s POV. Does she love Harry, or is she happy with being ‘friends with benefits?’ Who knows? Okay, I do, but I’m not telling yet. Plus, if Harry just admitted his feelings, the story would’ve been over a long time ago, and who wants that? (Don’t answer.)

Second, Evan is not evil. Like Ron said, he’s an accountant, and except for a little paper-shredding, accountants are a good bunch (apologies to any CPAs out there, couldn’t resist. But I can empathize, as my sister-in-law used to work for that firm). Based on years of experience watching television, I believe the technical term for what Harry is doing is projecting. Obviously he dislikes Evan right away, but instead of recognizing jealousy, he assumes his dislike is due to Evan being evil.

Third, I am not a girl! I am all man, 100% grade-A beef (insert many grunt and the flexing of appropriate muscles). I suppose I should write a bio.

Next chapter, all will be revealed.

- Hi Tawny! Missed you! I was going to ask you to beta this, but I noticed that you disappeared and was afraid to contact you if you were too busy.

- Good point about the sun Tiffr. You made me laugh :)

- Ironically enough fenriswolf, that’s exactly the scene I’m planning when my daughter is old enough to date.

## 7. Understanding

A/N: Here's the final chapter of the fic; I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

And life is good! Got my first eagle ever this weekend after two years! Though of course I followed it up with triple and quadruple bogeys. I'm sure no one really cares about this, but since I have you as a captive audience, you're stuck with it, so there!

And this time, I promise that this story is work-reading-friendly: there's more arguing and sudden realizations, less humor but more fluff. I wasn't overly satisfied with how the last two chapters came out, but I'm really happy with this one. Fluffy-goodness abounds! Plus, it's one of my longest chapters (even not counting the gigantic author notes).

***************

Understanding

I never thought I'd ever wish for Voldemort to come back from the beyond, but right now I wouldn't mind some sort of crisis to deliver me from my current situation. The situation was a little surreal: here I was, caught eavesdropping outside of Hermione's flat, frozen in my little crouch, with Hermione glaring at me, my invisibility cloak in her grasp. After a while, once I was sure that no one was going to miraculously come to my aide, or that a hippogriff wasn't going to bust through the window at the end of the hallway (where, oh where, art thou, Buckbeak?), I decided to play it cool.

I straightened and looked at Hermione as if seeing her for the first time. “Hermione!” I greeted cheerfully. “Funny seeing you here.”

“Uh-huh. Right,” she replied icily, arms crossed. Then, she made a stabbing motion with her finger towards her open door. “Get. In,” she said from behind clenched teeth.

“Sure, why not?” I said airily. “You seem troubled,” I remarked, as I walked past her and into her flat. I heard the door slam shut and turned around.

“Harry James -”

“Now listen Hermione,” I said quickly, hoping to cut her off before she really got a full head of steam. “I was only trying to protect you…” I began.

“Protect me? Protect me?! Who do you think you are trying to protect me? What, I can't take care of myself?”

Oooo-kay. Looks like the `protect Hermione' speech isn't going to cut it. Time for Plan B - it's just too bad that there isn't a Plan B. “No no no,” I said quickly, raising my hands to try and calm her down (as well as to protect myself in case the spells started flying). “I know you can protect yourself. I just had to be sure about Carlson.”

“And what, exactly, did you have to be sure about?” she demanded.

“Remember back at Ron's? I got the feeling he was Dark.”

“Oh really? And how exactly were you going to verify that? By making his bodily functions go crazy?” she demanded.

Hmmm. Looks like my plan wasn't as stealthy as I thought. At least she didn't know about the Banishing spell or messing with their reservations. “Well, if he was evil, I wanted to make sure he didn't try and lull you into a false sense of security.”

“Oh, in that case I should thank you, shouldn't I?” she asked acidly. I got the feeling though, that no thanks would be forthcoming. “So thank you, Harry Potter, for embarrassing me in front of all of Diagon Alley by making my date gassy, sweaty, and bloody!”

Okay, I was wrong. She did thank me, but I got the feeling that she didn't mean it; it was a rather sarcastic thanks, don't you think? “But…but he was evil,” I said a little lamely.

“Right, right…he was evil. And what exactly did he do that was evil?”

If not for the years of conditioning under the Dursleys, I'd probably be squirming and sweating under Hermione's piercing stare. But though I was rather squiggly inside, I was the picture of calm on the outside. “Okay, technically he didn't do anything evil. That I know about. Yet. It was just a sense I got.”

“A sense, huh? Well, why didn't you just say so? Harry Potter has a sense. Let's lock him up in Azkaban!”

This wasn't going so well. Time to try a different track. “Honestly Hermione, I don't see why this bothers you so. Even if he isn't evil, he was all wrong for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He's just too…dull.”

“Dull? I thought you just said he was evil! And how would you know anyways?”

I hesitated. Hermione doesn't approve when I use Legilimency. “I…uh…just know?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Harry Potter,” she said in a low voice as she approached me. I instinctively backed up a step, but too late! She was on me in a second. “Did - you - use - Legilimency?” she demanded, jabbing me in the chest with her finger each time.

“Um…sorta?”

She turned in frustration.

“But I was only doing it to pro - help - help you! I said help! I wasn't going to say protect!”

“Hmph. And how, exactly, were you `helping' me?”

“By saving you some trouble if he turned out to be all wrong for you, which he was. I mean, the guy practically groped you back there.”

“He did not! He said it was an accident and that…waitaminute! Did you -”

Um, let's no go down that road. “He's not good enough for you,” I said quickly.

“Is that right? He's not good enough for me?”

“Correct.”

“Then who, if I may ask, is good enough?”

“Erm…”

“How about Terence? Is he good enough?”

“Um…”

“No? How about Geoffrey?”

“Urgh…”

“Basil?”

“Erp.”

“Leonard? Bruno? Derwent? Gaspard? Elliot?”

“No…” Who are all these guys? How many wizards does Hermione know?

“Viktor?”

“Oh, hell no!”

“No? Then who Harry? Who?”

“I uh…”

“If it's not any of them, surely someone must be good enough for me…”

“Well, uh…”

“How about Goodwin? Aiden? Guthrie? Hamish? Alasda -”

“Me all right? Me! I'm the only one good enough for you!” I said angrily.

The silence was almost deafening.

It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up with my mouth, but when it did, suffice to say I was a little surprised by what just came out of my mouth. Did I just say `me?'

Okay, upon further review, I did in fact say `me.' But why? Is that why I hate Evan, why I sabotaged their date, why I wanted to pummel Ron for setting them up? Did I have feelings for Hermione?

No, it can't be. I mean, sure, I love Hermione, but not like that. I was just trying to watch out for her, like a sister…a sister that I've been having sex with? Oh God no! Ick! Maybe I should give this some more thought. Please let's give this some more thought. What did Uncle Remus say about love? Oh, right. You need trust, friendship, respect, attraction, and commitment. Well, the first three were easy: I trust Hermione with my life, she's one of my best friends, and of course I respect and admire her.

But attraction? Ha! I wasn't attracted to Hermione in the least - oh, right. The sex.

What about commitment then? Could I really see myself committed to Hermione for the rest of my life? To be with her and no one else? To live the rest of my life with her, grow old together, and take long walks in the park? To raise a family together?

Yes.

Yes I could.

I love Hermione.

I am in love with Hermione Granger.

Whoa.

I looked up and I opened my mouth to speak, only to find that Hermione had disappeared! I spun around, looking for her, until I spotted her sitting in her favorite chair, reading a book. My sudden motion must have caught her attention, for she looked up at me. “All finished then?” she asked. “Finally figured it out, have you?”

I made some sort of odd pantomime motion, gesturing at where she was sitting now and where she was standing just a bit ago. “Wha…how…you were just…and now you're…” I shook my head; it wasn't important where she was.

I suppose in the thrill of making such a colossal discovery about myself, I didn't pause to consider the consequences. So, instead, I simply blurted out, “I love you.”

After which, I did give pause to consider those consequences. My dear Lord, did I just say that? What is going on with my mouth today? Just once I'd like to be able to have some control over what comes out of there. But I suppose this is one way of going about it, though I would have preferred to wine and dine her first. Then I grew worried. How would she react? This was a significant change in our relationship. But of all the reactions I could have predicted - happiness, confusion, surprise, alarm, awkwardness, discomfort - what she said took me completely by surprise.

She looked at me for a second, and then calmly placed a bookmark to save her page and closed her book before turning back to me. She looked at me in the eyes, and said, “Finally!”

“I, uh…huh?”

She smiled at me. “It's about time, Harry. I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever figure it out.”

I tried to work that response out in my head, but I still couldn't make heads or tails of it. “Um…work what out?”

She gave me a tolerant smile. “Oh, sweet, adorable, clueless man. Harry, you have been in love with me for years.”

“What? What are you talking about? I have not!” I said a bit indignantly. I would think that I would know if I've been in love with someone for `years,' as she says.

She rolled her eyes and started ticking points off her fingers. “Let's see…ever since we graduated, we spend almost every weekend together; we've gone on vacations just the two of us; we've slept over at each other's homes and snuggle in bed; you sacrifice Quidditch just to go shoe shopping with me; I catch you staring at me often; when you do go out on dates, they complain that all you do is talk about me; the only picture you have on your desk at work is of me; you -”

“All that proves is that you're my best friend,” I protested.

“Fine. In that case, describe all the witches you've ever gone out with since Hogwarts.”

“Describe them?”

“Yes. What color hair did they have?”

Even though I was pure as the driven snow until Hermione corrupted me, I have gone out on a fair number of dates, even though none of them developed into relationships. I thought back over the various witches, trying to remember their hair color. “Um…they all had brown hair.” What an odd coincidence.

“How about eyes?”

“One of the witches had blue eyes.”

“Yes, that's true. One did. How about the others?”

I thought back. “Erm…brown.” Hmm…that's interesting.

“Okay. And how tall?”

“Well, about your height.”

“And their occupations?”

“Well, one was a researcher, another a librarian. There was a teacher, an arithmetician, another researcher, a political activist…” Okay, maybe she has a point. “All right, all right,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “Maybe, just maybe you're on to something there.” Her smile had a wee bit of a smirk about it, but then something occurred to me. “But Hermione, if you've known all this time, why didn't you ever say anything?”

She snorted. “Say anything?” she parroted. “Are you serious? Tell me Harry: what would you have done had I come up to you, and told you that you were in love with me?”

“Well, I would have considered it, weighed the evidence carefully, examined my own emotions, actions, and the underlying reasons for them, and then thought long and hard about the ramifications of a…” I trailed off as she arched an eyebrow at me. “Okay fine. I would have run away screaming.”

“Exactly!”

Then something else occurred to me, and I grew nervous. “Er Hermione? What about…I mean, how do you…?”

She gave me a warm smile as she came up to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “I love you too, Harry.” I couldn't help the silly grin that appeared on my face. This was great! This was awesome! This was -

And then she kissed me, and I forgot what I was thinking about.

A few minutes later, I asked her, “So, what do we do now?”

She grinned. “Well Harry, it is Friday. What do we usually do on Fridays?”

I matched her grin, though I suppose it's no longer appropriate to refer to them as `Last Times' anymore; hopefully they could become `All the Times' now. I started to initiate the process, if you know what I mean, when she pulled away.

“Not yet, you're going to have to control yourself for a little longer.”

“What!? Why?” I couldn't keep the whiney tone out of my voice.

“Someone, who shall remain nameless, ruined my dinner. I'm famished.”

“Er, right,” I said guiltily. “Yes, there's no reason to name and names.” I thought about places for a quick bite or takeaway, when I remembered the star-struck maître d' at Michael's Corner. I owed Hermione at least that. “I think I can probably get us a table at Michael's Corner, if you want.”

“On such short notice?”

“Oh,” I said smugly. “I have my ways.”

“Wonderful then!” She smiled as she retrieved her cloak, and we left her flat. As we walked down the hallway, she gave me sideways look. “If they're full, maybe you talk to the maître d' again like you did earlier.”

Now that stopped me in my tracks. Eeek. “Erm, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, you remember, don't you?” she asked innocently. “How you talked to the maître d' while Evan and I were waiting for a table?”

Ouch! I winced at being caught. “How did you know? Did you see me?”

“No, you were quite well hidden.”

“Then how?”

“I think the ten or fifteen people who were pointing over at you and whispering about the Boy-Who-Lived being in the restaurant gave you away,” she said with an impish smile.

Argh! Stupid fame! “All right, all right. Let's get going.”

As we walked down the hallway, she mimicked a star-struck third-year: “Oooh, Mr. Potter! Can I have your autograph?”

“Ha. Ha. Soooo funny.”

“Your so much more handsome in public! Can I see your scar?” she continued in that fake, dreamy voice.

“That's enough, Granger,” I said, hiding my amusement behind a stern voice.

“Oh, it's `Granger' now, is it, Potter?”

“That's right, Bookworm.”

“Scarhead.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Four-eyes.”

“Chipmunk.”

“Glory-hound.”

I laughed. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

*******************

A/N: Awww…ain't that sweet? And so ends another fic. Just a bit of personal background, when I proposed to my wife, the first word she said to me, tears streaming down her face, was “Finally!” But it's not as bad as it sounds: we were high school sweethearts, and I waited until after we graduated from college…plus a few years. Other random comments:

- Don't call DCFS (Dept of Children and Family Services) on me about my plans to torment my daughter's potential boyfriends just yet, Tawny, Anasazi, and Ravenclaw's heir. She's not even two yet, so there's plenty of time to think of even more diabolical things! Mwhahaha!

- I forgive those of you who thought I was a girl, mainly because it seemed it was an assumption rather than based on my writing. I had someone on FA say Harry's thoughts were rather feminine, so of course I'm never posting there again (oh yeah, and that firewall thingie).

- Two points to Starlight623, danielerin and Readingeye for pointing out that I'm handsome and charming. One point to spaz141 for saying my writing is handsome.

- Me wonders whether or not DJ Mandy B's observations on accountants speaks from personal experience, and whether the review was written from Cell Block 4 in a minimum-security prison. Maybe you'll see Martha Stewart there?

- Thanks for the sentiments Adrial, but of course if I did receive money for this, I'd have to spend it all on the lawsuits.

- I'm just a wee bit scared of funvince and woefulwabbit, but at least they're not into Snape/Hermione, right? Right? Hello?

- Bec and Aly: why have thou abandonest me?

- <Waves at cheering charm for no other reason then fan worship> Hmmm…aren't I little too old for fan worship? Honestly, that's more for eleven-year old girls and - wait, did someone say Tiger Woods and Sammy Sosa are having lunch downstairs with Michael Jordan and Peyton Manning? Okay, gotta go! See y'all next time!

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