Melted by GracieInGreek

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 04/09/2005
Last Updated: 04/09/2005
Status: Completed

"Considering this is the sixtieth time you haven't been able to find the correct key
for the correct lock--which, by the way, works out to twice every day for the last month--and
considering that none of those times have resulted in some sort of Dark-Wizard infiltration, I
think it's safe to conclude that the door has simply whooped your arse. ...Again."




1. Melting and Smirking
-----------------------



**Melted**

**By GracieInGreek**

Hermione smiled, watching Harry fiddle around with the old brass door handle.

Lips pursed and eyes frustrated, Harry was trying to fit a number of keys on a large silver key
ring, one after the other, into the mouth of the old-fashioned keyhole in the surprisingly sturdy
front door.

They were outside their current hideout---ahem, that is, residence. Hermione's arms were
full of brown paper bags of groceries, her hip resting against the archway of the stoop they were
both currently standing on; her brown curls were up and loosely covered under a rather floppy hat,
brown eyes half-hidden by sunglasses perched down the length of her nose.

They were still on their quest, Ron, Harry and herself. But, unfortunately, as discreet as they
ever tried to be in wherever they would currently be living, Harry was completely insistent that
they change locations as often as possible. Being in one place too long tended to make him anxious
and antsy these days, and, as rational as Hermione tried to be, Harry's skittishness tended to
rub off on her and Ron, making them both nervous enough to follow him without much protest.

This, eventually, had led them out of Godric's Hollow, and right back in some months
later--in an entirely new and inconspicuous building, of course. Harry, predictably, had been very
resistant on coming back to live in the same place twice, but with some levelheaded prodding from
Hermione--slightly helped by Ron's insistence that it wouldn't hurt them at all to go back
living in a place where he wouldn't get lost every five minutes--they were able to convince
Harry that no one would expect them to backtrack into the same city.

Harry had said that the thought had been very Mad-Eye of her. Hermione had smirked. Ron had been
relieved that he could go down to the corner pub and not have to call either Harry or Hermione to
come and lead him back home.

It was a boarding house, on a rather residential but usually calm side of the town. (Harry
actually liked the fact that it was rather residential. It made the chance of someone from the
wizarding-world looking for them there slimmer.)

The woman who'd been running it had met with them thinking that each would want to rent a
separate room. Imagine her surprise upon finding out that Harry had intended the whole building for
just the three of them. Hermione had understood why. It was big and roomy, lots of individual space
for each of them as well as a good amount work-and-study space. Perhaps a few studies, an intercom
system, or even a library. Hermione knew Harry'd thought she'd like that. Plus, several
rooms had fireplaces. That would be convenient.

The woman had been vocal and sure about the fact that three kids their age couldn't afford
to rent a house that size. ...Harry, though politely, had smirked.

A few dozen--or hundred, maybe--charms, spells, and enchantments later, there they were.
They'd actually managed to stay there over a month, both Hermione and Ron convincing and
re-convincing Harry of its safety every week or so...and Harry still couldn't figure out which
bloody key went in which bleeding lock. Hermione hid her smirk behind the loaf of pumpernickel
peaking out of one of the brown paper bags in her arms.

"Ugh!" Harry said, showing his frustrations by finally just thrusting his shoulder
against the high wooden door. Rubbing his arm a moment later, he glared at the lock.
"That's it. None of them work. Someone's been tampering with this lock--they could be
in there now--we have to find somewhere else, Hermione, nip over to the Burrow and tell Ron to cut
his trip short so we can get moving--"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Harry," Hermione giggled, amused, as she thrust one of the
bags at him. She shook out her tired arm. "Considering this is the sixtieth time you
haven't been able to find the correct key for the correct lock--which, by the way, works out to
twice every day for the last month--and considering that none of *those* times have resulted
in some sort of Dark-Wizard infiltration, I think it's safe to conclude that the door has
simply whooped your arse. ...Again."

"Oh, ha-ha," drawled Harry, shaking his long bangs out of his eyes. He'd managed
to color that famous-black hair once they'd started on their mission. It went -back- to black
within a day, but still. Harry was adamant.

*"*Why don't you get it open, then, Miss Smarty-Pants?"

"Hey, hey, now, Mr. Safety Man. It was *your* idea to make the whole place
impenetrable to magical entry, remember? And besides, what would our lovely Muggle neighbors think
if I just bombarda'd down the door?" Hermione was still amused. They *had* been at
this for a rather long time, but, after living with Harry and Ron, Hermione's patients had
grown wonders.

And it was very funny to Hermione that Harry had grown into one of the most powerful and
infamous Wizards in the magical world today, and yet still had trouble with something as mundane as
opening the front door after shopping.

Hermione physically broke down laughing when Harry stuck his tongue out at her.

"And you know what just *may* help?" she said.

"What, may I ask, would that be?"

"Put your glasses on, you silly twit."

Harry blinked at her giggling face, a curl or two escaping from under her hat as she shook her
head.

"...Oh." Harry took his round-rimmed glasses from out of his pocket with his free
hand, slipping them on his nose. Whenever they left the house, he insisted on taking them off. He
bumped into every other person and a decent number of street lamps even as Hermione guided him by
the arm, but he insisted it was all for the best. After being out for a while, actually, he
sometimes forgot that he wasn't *usually* blind as a bat.

"You could have reminded me of that ten minutes ago, you know."

"It's less funny that way."

"Oh, ha-ha."

"Just open the door, Harry. The ice-cream is melting."

He stuck his tongue out at her smirking face again, and turned to peer down at the key ring in
his hands, trying to force another key back into the lock.

Clink, clink. Grunt, grunt. ..Argh.

"...Oh, just come over here and do it for me, will you?"

Hermione gave a very theatrical and bored sigh, pretending to be annoyed as she thrust the other
grocery bags into his arms and plucked the keys from his fingers.

She rifled through them for a second, and soon the door pushed open with ease. Harry raised his
eyebrows, just as he had done on many occasions before.

"...Don't smirk at me, Hermione, I would have gotten it eventualeemmph..."

Hermione, intent on stopping him mid-grump, had pushed his shoulder until he was pressed up
against the open door panel. Leaning over the bags of pumpernickel bread and tea to push her lips
against his, their glasses and noses bumped together and the leaves of some cabbage got stuck
between their faces. Harry half-fumbled with one of the bags when Hermione slipped a few of her
warm fingers up under his jumper; mouth still against his, she laughed. Hermione had to stand on
her tiptoes to reach him and cracked some of the eggs when she'd teetered and accidentally
leaned into one of his full arms. Finally, looking dazed and no longer frustrated, Harry tried to
say something.

"Mmf...Hermione?"

"Mmm?" she responded, reaching up to wipe their very foggy glasses; there mouths were
hardly separated.

"...I think the ice-cream's melted."

Hermione smirked.

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