Chapter 8 Harry Cooks Dinner
Hermione stretched her arms above her head and let out a huge yawn. She was lying in bed looking out the window toward the darkened sky. She glanced at the alarm clock she had just silenced and steeled herself to get out of bed, dreading that first step onto the cold, stone floor. She flung the blankets off and jumped out of bed, running on her tiptoes as fast as possible to the loo. She shut the door quickly and turned on the light. She hurriedly grabbed the socks she had prepared the night before and put them on her feet, before beginning to dress for her morning run.
Rubbing the chill from her arms, she stepped out of the loo dreading the considerable cold that would greet her outdoors. She fought the urge to overdress with more layers. Glancing at her warm inviting bed, she walked out the door and briskly down the hall before she lost her motivation.
Outside on the castle steps she took a deep breath of the crisp air, letting its freshness fill her lungs and wake her senses. On the horizon she could see the midnight blue of darkness slowly succumbing to the orange hues of sunrise. It was going to be a beautiful day. She smiled and bounced down the steps to begin her run.
Three miles in 27 minutes - piece of cake.
Each time Hermione went for a run she was moderately surprised with herself. Hermione was not sporty. And generally she did not like sports. The mere fact that she was consistently exercising was a wonder to her, and to the people around her. As a general rule, the wizarding world was not aware of physical fitness. It was one of "those Muggle obsessions" that wizards saw as frivolous. After all, wizards routinely outlived Muggles without the aid of exercise so what was the point? More than one person had told Hermione that it was a wasted effort.
Hermione agreed, to a degree. In her case, she wasn't doing it to prolong her life. In her opinion she had no control over when she would die; fate would take care of that. She began running, ironically, because she wasn't sporty, and secretly she wanted to be. Unfortunately, she had no natural athletic ability. She wasn't quick, she couldn't throw a ball, coordination wasn't her strong suit and she had tried in vain for years to touch her toes without bending her legs. She could almost do it, but not quite. Not being good at something only motivated Hermione to do it even more.
She began searching around for something she could do to improve her athleticism and discovered running. It was cheap, didn't require much equipment, could be done alone at any time of day, and was self-paced. Naturally, she began her training by reading in the library.
At first she walked more than ran, as the training program suggested. Slowly the amount she walked decreased as her stamina increased and soon she was running the entire time. Currently she was running three miles, four days a week, working on decreasing her time instead of increasing her distance. Today, her goal was three miles in 27 minutes.
More surprising to her than her physical accomplishment was one of the beneficial side effects of physical activity. On the days she ran she felt sharper mentally. She was a bit embarrassed to admit to herself that she didn't think it would be possible for her to be mentally sharper. Over the years, Hermione worked very hard building her reputation as the brightest witch at Hogwarts. A great deal of her cleverness grew from natural intelligence, but a surprising portion was sheer determination and hard work. The fact that running improved her mental abilities had become the primary reason that she braved the cold four days a week.
Every four steps, little puffs of her warm breath collided with the cold morning air. This cadence lulled her into a near trance, allowing her mind to roam freely over past events and future activities. Most days she spent her early morning runs composing "to do" lists and planning her day. Some days, however, she relived memories both painful and pleasant. On more rare occasions, she thought of nothing.
Those were her favorite days.
She followed her routine path through Hogsmeade, looping around the outer perimeter of town, up and down the quiet, deserted streets and down the main thoroughfare ending at the local bakery. She stopped and checked her time on her watch: 27:10. Shaking her head in disappointment, she opened the door, the aroma of baked bread wafting out to greet her.
"Good morning, Professor!" the witch behind the counter called cheerfully, already placing a full glass of water on the counter for Hermione.
"Good morning, Judith," Hermione replied breathlessly. She picked up the water. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome. Do you want your usual, then?" Judith asked, beginning to assemble Hermione's order.
"You know me too well," Hermione teased between gulps of water.
"So how was your run this morning?"
"Good. Still working on shaving a bit of time. I'm getting closer."
"Don't make yourself sick, child," the elderly witch admonished.
"I've got to work a bit harder if I'm going to continue to eat your delicious and highly fattening danish!"
The witch paused in pouring a cup of Earl Grey. "You are right. By all means, make yourself sick!"
Hermione smiled, fished her money out of the pocket of her jacket and handed it to the baker, grabbing the two bags she offered in the other hand. "Thanks, Judith! See you day after tomorrow!"
"Have a good day, Professor," the witch called.
Hermione stepped out of the bakery and walked across the street and into an alley. She walked around the corner, stopped at a bright yellow door, and rang the buzzer, hopping up and down on her feet to keep the chill away. She was about to ring the bell again when the door opened revealing Ginny Weasley, bleary-eyed and wearing her dressing gown and slippers.
"Hiya Ginny!" Hermione said, bounding through the opened door. "I've brought breakfast!"
"You'd better be bringing breakfast if you ring my door this early."
"I always call this early, Ginny," Hermione said, climbing the stairs to the flat above the shop.
Ginny scowled at her friend. "How can you be so peppy at 6:30 in the morning?" she asked, gathering plates, forks and serviettes from her cupboard.
"I just ran three miles. It wakes me up and makes me feel good. You should try it," Hermione suggested to Ginny for the 50th time.
"I'm not a morning person," Ginny growled. "I'll never understand why you get up four days a week and run."
Hermione took the lid off her Earl Grey tea and gently blew on it. "It is a proven fact that running…"
Ginny held up her hand. "Stop right there. It is way too early in the morning to listen to any statement that begins with the words 'it is a proven fact.'"
Hermione laughed at her grumpy friend and said, "So, ready for tomorrow?"
"Stocked and loaded," Ginny replied, tearing off a piece of her pastry and popping it in her mouth. "Mmm, these are still warm! Heaven!" she said with a groan of pleasure.
"Do you need my help tomorrow?" Hermione asked, as she did every time before the first Hogsmeade weekend.
Ginny waved her hand. "No, we will be fine," she said, declining Hermione's offer again. "Mom's coming, and George this time, I think. We should be covered. But thanks anyway."
Ginny looked up slyly from her pastry. "So, are you ready for tonight?"
Hermione shot her a puzzled look. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Your date."
Hermione choked on her tea, laughing. "It isn't a date! You know that."
"No I don't," Ginny said innocently.
"Of course you do! Have you forgotten that you and Neville are going to be there, too?"
"No, I haven't forgotten. But from what Neville said, it was a reluctant invitation on Harry's part."
"Oh, please! I was there! It was Harry's idea!"
"That's not what Neville said," Ginny persisted, blowing on her tea.
"We are talking about a man who is not known for his stellar memory, Ginny. And anyway, even if you two weren't going to be there, which you are, it is not and never was a date," Hermione finished emphatically.
"How are you so sure?" Ginny asked with a grin.
"Because Harry and I have never had that kind of relationship. We're friends, that's all. I am the girl that gives Harry advice about dating, not the girl that Harry dates."
Ginny popped the last of her croissant in her mouth and wiped her hands on her serviette. "You've never had any other feelings for Harry? In school?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not you, too! I can't tell you how many times I've heard that question. 'How can you just be friends with a boy?' Hermione said in a mocking voice. "It was irritating in school and it's irritating now. I liked Ron, not Harry. Everyone wants our friendship to have been some torrid love triangle. I guess to make the whole defeating Voldemort story more fantastic, as if it needs embellishing! I'm sorry to ruin everyone's fun, but it just wasn't."
"Blimey, it was just a question. No need to get so upset."
"I'm not upset, just tired of hearing it. I have never thought of Harry in any way other than as a friend. Full stop."
Ginny took another sip of her tea and set it down gingerly. "Even now? Since he's been back?" Ginny inquired.
Hermione studied her friend, tapping the beverage stir straw from her tea on the table. "Honestly?"
Ginny leaned forward, an anxious look on her face, nodding vigorously.
"No," Hermione intoned. She watched Ginny deflate, excitement ebbing out of her. Hermione crossed her arms again. "Why are you pushing this, Gin?"
"I'm not pushing anything!" she replied. "I'm just talking to my best friend about the most eligible bachelor around, who just happens to be Harry. You know me, I'm always trying to set you up and improve your social life."
"You can stop trying. I'm fine." Hermione stood and picked up the empty pastry bags taking them to the bin, along with her now empty cup. She turned to Ginny saying, "I'd better get going."
Ginny stood and walked Hermione down the stairs to the back door. "See you at seven?" Hermione asked.
"Harry told Neville 7:30."
Puzzled, Hermione replied, "Really? I could have sworn it was seven. Oh, well, see you at 7:30 then!" Hermione called, jogging down the alley and out of sight.
Hermione waved her wand, extinguishing the lights in her classroom as she walked into the deserted corridor. She opened the slim book in her hand and began reading as she walked. She was so familiar with the hallways and corridors of Hogwarts that her body knew where to go whether she was paying attention or not. Completely engrossed in what she was doing she didn't hear Harry calling her name, nor was she aware of him at all until he grasped her arm to stop her.
"Hermione! Hold up!" Harry said, slightly out of breath, his hand gently pulling on her elbow.
"Oh!" she started, still distracted by her book. "Hi, Harry. What are you doing up here at the castle?"
"McG lets me come up here every once in a while, as long as I'm on my best behavior. You know how crude we jocks can be," Harry said teasingly.
"Harry," Hermione said with disapproval. "Do you think it is a good idea to call the Headmistress 'McG?' This isn't America after all. We don't all shorten our names for no reason at all."
"What's wrong, G? You not down with 'dat?" Harry said with a poor attempt at and American accent. Hermione looked at him quizzically, not completely understanding what he was saying. Harry sobered quickly. "Sorry. Bad joke."
Hermione shook her head and continued walking. "What are you doing?"
"Coming to see you."
"Why? You are going to see me in a few hours." She turned to look at him and saw a bemused expression on his face. "What is it, Harry?"
"Nice spectacles."
"What?" she asked absentmindedly. Harry pointed to his eyes and recognition flooded her face. "Oh, right," she said taking them off.
"When did you get them?"
"A couple of years ago. Eye strain from reading too many books," she said in embarrassment, pushing a strand of hair out of her face.
"Like that one?" Harry pointed to the book Hermione was holding, her first finger keeping her place about halfway through the book.
"Oh!" Hermione said, hiding the book behind her back. "No, not really like this one."
"What is it?" Harry asked curiously, reaching for the book. "Let me see."
"No, you wouldn't be interested in it." She turned her body to block Harry from grabbing the book. Harry anticipated her move and instead of reaching around her front, reached around her back and grabbed the book out of her hands.
"Harry!" Hermione said with exasperation.
"The Lovely Bones. That doesn't sound very appealing, Hermione," Harry said, opening the book to read the inside flap. He looked up at her. "Is this a Muggle book? Are you reading …," Harry paused, looking around furtively, then whispered dramatically "for pleasure?" A smile played on the edges of his lips.
Hermione smiled and grabbed the book out of Harry's hands, realizing how silly she was being trying to hide it. "Oh, give me that."
"Let me guess, you feel guilty for reading something for pleasure when you have so much to do, right?"
"Maybe just a little."
"You aren't going to be compiling 'to do' lists in your head tonight, are you?"
"No." She playfully punched him in the arm. They arrived at the Entrance Hall and Hermione turned to go to the faculty residences as Harry headed toward the front door.
"See you at seven!" Harry called.
"I thought it was 7:30?"
"No. Seven," Harry replied walking backwards and out the front door.
Hermione turned to see the Head Girl (more like Head Gossip, Hermione thought), Charlotte Tiere, directly behind her.
"Good afternoon, Professor," Charlotte said, barely able to conceal the knowing smirk that had crept onto her face.
Great, the entire school will think I have a date with Harry within minutes.
Hermione nodded her head formally and replied, "Charlotte." Then she continued on to her room.
With one last glance in her mirror, Hermione grabbed her cloak and breezed out of her room, giddy with excitement at the prospect of seeing Harry's completed house. The last time she'd been there, three weeks ago, it had been a disaster. Drop cloths covered almost every inch of open floor space. Empty paint cans and used paint trays littered the floors. Boxes, opened and unopened, were stacked in haphazard piles in each room. It had taken all of Hermione's willpower not to start unpacking and organizing Harry's things immediately upon her arrival.
The fact that she had been there on three separate occasions and had not succumbed to her compulsion to organize was saying a great deal, not about Hermione's strength of will, but about Harry's lack of furniture. Hermione could only assume that Harry had procured some folding chairs and a table for them to eat on tonight. Try as she might, she could not envision anything other than a large box with a blanket thrown over it as a makeshift table. If her imagination went wild she pictured cushions for them to sit on. That was as far as her speculations could take her. She could not conceive of a 'Harry' that could actually decorate a house or pick out matching furniture. That was just too far removed from the person she had known.
She had spent many hours comparing this Harry, the one she was reacquainting herself with, and the Harry she knew in school. How were they different? How were they the same? Inexplicably, she had decided that they were different and alike at the same time. The new Harry was … (there was no other way to say it) much more fun. There was a mischievous twinkle ever present in his eye and she knew he was always seconds away from saying or doing something that would make her laugh. This was unlike the old Harry. But not, she realized now, because he wasn't fun in school, but because there was always a layer of sadness that shrouded his inner prankster. He had always been an eager participant in breaking the rules, but very rarely was his delinquency just for fun. There was a higher purpose - ultimately the defeat of Voldemort - behind every rule he broke. Once Harry's higher purpose had been resolved, his shroud of sadness lifted, albeit slowly from what Harry had revealed about his first year in America. After that, Hermione got the distinct impression that his inner prankster had run wild with the help of his roommates in San Diego.
Hermione smiled remembering some of the stories about Wyatt and Darby that Harry shared while they were painting his house. He told her about the steady stream of girls that Wyatt paraded through the room that he and Harry shared, relegating Harry to the sofa most nights. The short-lived relationship Harry had with Darby had been a short-lived conversation, too. Hermione, intrigued by the idea of Harry having a girlfriend, peppered him with questions, some of which he answered, many of which he deftly deflected.
"How long did you date?"
"You couldn't really call what we did dating."
"So it was purely sexual?"
"Hermione!"
"What? If it wasn't dating then it must have been something!"
"I can't believe you are asking me about this."
"I'm just curious, Harry. I can't imagine you with a girlfriend, seeing as you never really had one in school. Unless you count Cho. Do you?"
"Not really."
"Me either. So, tell me about Darby."
"What do you want to know?"
"What was she like? How long did you date? Who broke up with whom? Were you still friends after?"
"She was fun. We dated for about six months. We broke up with each other and yes, we were friends after."
"Gosh, Harry, don't give me too many details," Hermione said sarcastically.
"Why are you so interested?"
"I'm not that interested. If you don't want to tell me, then don't," Hermione said.
And that had been the end of that conversation.
Hermione was walking past Ginny's shop and noticed the light on in the flat above. She glanced at her watch - 6:58 p.m. - and wondered if she should stop and walk with Ginny and Neville. Deciding that she might be interrupting something she didn't want to see, she continued on her way, thinking about the conversation she'd had with Ginny that morning.
If she had a knut for every time someone implied something about her and Harry she would be a rich girl. Why did she consistently fail to convince anyone that she had never regarded Harry romantically? Had everyone forgotten that she dated Ron? That she loved Ron? The thought that others marginalized her relationship with Ron in favor of the "dream" of a happily ever after for Harry made her angry. Not angry with Harry; he had done nothing to encourage the phenomena. Rather she was angry on Ron's behalf; his worst fear, losing yet again to Harry, realized years after his death. So it was indignation on Ron's behalf more than anything that had caused Hermione to react to Ginny's questions as she had earlier. And also, the insinuation that Ginny's question ("in school?") implied that Hermione had been cheating on Ron, if not in actuality, at least in her mind by pining away for Harry.
But Hermione had not been able to get the conversation out of her mind the rest of the day. She knew without a doubt what her feelings were now and what they were five years ago. But she reluctantly admitted to herself that she did not know what Harry's feelings were. Their conversation the week before, which Hermione viewed as a brainstorming session to improve Harry's love life, now took on an entirely new meaning. Hermione had taken the entire conversation in jest. At the very most it was a return to their relationship of years before, Hermione offering sage advice into the puzzling psyche that is the female mind for Harry, who had never been adept at understanding girls. It was with that idea in mind that she joked to Harry about this dinner tonight being a date, admonishing him for skipping the "charm" step.
It was with shock today, after parting ways with him in the Entrance Hall, that she realized that Harry had been charming her for weeks. There was nothing overt, she rationalized to herself, such as obvious flirting or suggestive comments. Everything she thought of could be explained away as him being nice, polite and courteous. Which begged the question: was this alleged charm intentional or a result of his personality evolution? Is this the Harry that she would have known if Voldemort had never killed his parents? Which led to an even more disturbing question: would she have had romantic feelings for him if this had been the Harry she knew in school?
It was with this question ringing in her ears that she walked through the gate to Harry's house to find him waiting for her in the open door. He was leaning on the jamb with a bottle of ale in hand looking, she was shocked to realize, very handsome.
"Are you ready to see the finished product?" he asked, barely able to conceal his excitement.
She laughed at his childlike enthusiasm. "Lead the way."
Harry stepped back for Hermione to walk through. She stopped dead in her tracks with her mouth gaping open in surprise. The room, which had been devoid of furniture a few weeks before, was possibly the most inviting room she had ever seen. The wall with the stone fireplace now had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built into it, filled with hundreds of books, framed pictures and collectibles from Harry's time in the States. The fireplace was lit with a warm comforting fire that caused light to dance on the opposite wall. In front of the fireplace was a large dark brown leather sofa that looked as if you could sleep forever on it. Two matching club chairs flanked the fireplace and were slightly angled to face the sofa. In the center of this area was a large coffee table with a deep green and burgundy oriental rug underneath protecting the newly refinished hardwood floors.
Harry, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement, said, "Well, what do you think?"
Hermione slowly turned to look at Harry and said, "Did you do this all yourself?"
"I had help with the painting," he teased.
Still looking around in awe, she said, "No, I mean the furniture, decorating. Did you do that?"
"Um, yeah," he said, sounding a little unsure of himself now. "Well, I didn't realize until it was all in place that it looks drastically like the Gryffindor Common Room."
Still with an amazed look on her face, Hermione said, "It looks great, Harry!" She started walking slowly towards the bookshelves. "Did you do this?"
His excitement returned. "I did! Remember the section in that book about charming power tools? It was a little dangerous at first, it isn't an easy thing to charm a mitre saw, but I got good at it fairly quickly. Do you like it?"
"You could say that." She lifted her hand to pull a book out and realized she was still holding the bottle of wine she brought for dinner. Hermione absently handed Harry the bottle of wine. "Here." She pulled a book from the shelf.
"Thanks, I'll just go open it."
When Harry came back into the room and handed her a glass of wine, she asked, "When did you become a reader?"
"Actually, I'm still not much of a reader. Those are all for you," Harry said simply taking a drink of his ale.
Hermione's head jerked up. "For me?"
"Sure. I would pick up books that I thought you might like while I was traveling. I was as surprised as you are when I unpacked them and realized how many there were!"
"Harry, there has to be over 200 books here!" she said, amazed.
"Two hundred thirty seven, to be exact. I counted when I unpacked them."
"Wow," Hermione whispered as she gazed at the books. "I don't know where to start…"
"Here, start with this one," Harry said as he grabbed a book from the shelf. "It is about New Orleans, Louisiana. We're eating Cajun food tonight so it is appropriate."
"We are eating Ca…you're cooking?" Hermione asked.
Harry smiled at the perplexed look on her face. "Of course, what did you think I was going to call the Hog's Head for takeaway?"
"When did you learn to cook?"
"I just picked stuff up as I went along. After I came out of my yearlong daze, I ate my way across America in honor of Ron. I decided it was my job to try as many new things as I could and decide if Ron would like it. To honor his legacy of a voracious appetite." Harry laughed and raised his glass in toast of Ron's eating habits.
Hermione smiled and raised her glass in response, remembering Ron's appetite. "And did you find anything that Ron wouldn't have liked?"
Harry pondered for a moment, took a drink and said, "Grits." Before Hermione could question this he said, "Don't ask," and they both started laughing.
"Something smells great! What are we having?" Hermione asked heading to the kitchen behind Harry.
"Blackened chicken, dirty rice, steamed veggies and French bread," Harry said, lifting the lid to a pot and stirring the contents within, which Hermione could only guess was "dirty rice."
"Hmmm, sounds interesting," she said with a hint of doubt in her voice.
Harry laughed and said, "Trust me, you'll love it!"
Hearing a knock on the door, Harry and Hermione ambled into the front room to welcome Ginny and Neville. After taking their cloaks, getting Ginny a glass of wine and Neville an ale, Harry went into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner. Neville followed him telling him about the previous year's Quidditch World Cup.
"This is a switch," Ginny said plopping down on the sofa and removing her shoes. "The men in the kitchen cooking dinner and the women by the fire relaxing. I could get used to this!"
"Me, too," agreed Hermione, taking a sip of her wine and glancing in the kitchen. She sat there for a few minutes watching Harry cook dinner and laugh at something Neville said. "Isn't it a little…strange to see Harry giving a dinner party?"
"I guess," Ginny replied shrugging her shoulders. "You just remember the Harry from school. The guy that had a little bit on his mind such as defeating Voldemort, saving the wizarding world…all the basic stuff for a teenager," Ginny said. She paused and watched Harry and Neville laugh about something then looked at Hermione. She was still watching Harry with a contemplative look on her face. "Looks to me like he achieved his goal by going to the States."
"What's that?" Hermione said distractedly, still watching Harry and Neville.
"To be a normal wizard with a normal life," Ginny said simply. At this Hermione looked back at Ginny who was watching her with a grin on her face.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that, Ginny?"
"No reason. But the next few months are going to be very interesting, I think," she said with a smile.
"Why do you say that?"
"No reason," she said flippantly. She leaned forward and whispered, "I think Neville's up to something."
"Really? Keeping things from you, is he?" Hermione asked.
"Oh, he thinks he is, but I'm too smart for him. I found brochures for a bed and breakfast in Bath, a villa in the South of France, and a very posh hotel in Rome. It looks like Neville is trying to surprise me with a romantic getaway!"
Harry and Neville glanced at the girls sitting on the couch giggling. "Why do they do that?" Neville asked.
"No clue. You would think they would have grown out of it by now," Harry said. "I wonder what they are giggling about?"
Harry and Neville looked at each other and said in unison, "Us," and started laughing.
Neville watched as Harry started preparing the skillet for the blackened chicken. He looked into the front room to make sure that Ginny and Hermione were still occupied before whispering to Harry, "I'm going to ask Ginny to marry me."
Harry looked up from what he was doing and smiled broadly. "That's great Neville!"
"Shhhh," Neville said. "Ginny has never needed extendable ears!"
"Sorry," whispered Harry. "So, what is your plan?" he asked.
"I'm going to ask her at this year's Yule Ball, since that was our first date ever. It is so embarrassing to think about how clumsy I was dancing with her."
"Yeah, well, we were all awkward and clumsy back then. Except Hermione, that is. Does Ginny have any idea?"
"No, I left some brochures for a few holiday spots where she might find them. I'm going to talk to her about taking a trip over the Christmas break to throw her off. Those are actually brochures for our Honeymoon. Of course, Molly is in on it and is quite excited about pulling one over on Ginny. Honestly, the whole family likes to play pranks on each other. It's more than a little scary."
"You're choosing to marry into it, mate, so you better get ready to be pranked for the rest of your life," Harry laughed.
"Trust me, I know. Fred and George live to prank me."
Hermione and Ginny walked into the kitchen to refill their wine glasses at this point. Ginny went over to Neville, put her arm around his waist and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "What are you two boys plotting in here?" she asked.
"Us? Plotting?" Neville asked in mock surprise. "What would ever make you think such a thing?"
"You have been whispering intently for quite a while…" Hermione began.
"And you ladies have been giggling like school girls for even longer," Harry said.
"I don't giggle," Hermione said, offended.
"You keep thinking that," Harry replied. "Time to eat!"
"What are we having?" Ginny asked. Hermione gave her an alarming look that said "don't ask." Harry saw the look and said, "Hey! You said it sounded good earlier!"
"No, Harry, I said it sounded 'interesting.' Good has yet to be determined," she said as she dodged Harry's attempt to snap his dishtowel at her.
"Watch it, Professor. I've got a wand and I know how to use it," she warned him, laughing.
Harry served the other three and sat down to eat. He was putting his serviette in his lap when he realized that the three of them were sitting there staring from the food on their plates, to him, to each other. "What is it?" he asked.
"Harry, um … well, the chicken looks a little overdone for my taste," Neville said as tactfully as possible.
Harry started laughing and said, "This is blackened chicken, not burned chicken! The blackened part on the outside is spices. Cut into the chicken, you'll see. Just try it. If you honestly don't like it, I'll go to 'Plan B.'"
"Would it be rude to ask for 'Plan B' right now?" Neville whispered under his breath to Ginny.
"I will warn you, though," Harry started as Neville, Ginny and Hermione were about to put their first bite into their mouth. "It's a little spicy."
They all paused with their forks up to their mouths, looked at each other and decided to do it together. As they ate their first bite, Harry watched them with a huge grin on his face. Ginny had a look on her face that said "much better than I thought." Hermione was nodding her head and cutting off her second bite. Neville on the other hand had stopped mid chew and was blowing air out of his mouth and waving his hand in front of his red face.
"Accio milk," Harry said and a jar of milk flew into his hands from the counter. "Here. Drink this, Neville. It helps with the heat." Neville drank it and his face began to return to its normal colour.
"So plan B for Neville then. Anyone else?" Harry asked, and they all began to laugh with the exception of Neville who was drinking more milk.
After dinner the four of them sat in the front room in front of the fire talking and laughing for hours. Ginny and Neville were sitting cuddled on the couch, Hermione was sitting in one of the club chairs with her legs flung across the arm and Harry was sitting on the floor in front of her chair. Finally, Neville rose and said, "We'd better get going; it's getting late." He grabbed Ginny's hands and pulled her up from the sofa into a hug. Harry sprang up and said, "I'll go get your cloaks."
"Neville, want to walk with me back to the castle?" Hermione asked.
"No way, he's coming home with me," Ginny said.
"Right, I forgot," Hermione said sheepishly.
"How could you forget that? They have been acting like teenagers all night!" Harry laughed returning with their cloaks. "I can walk you back, Hermione."
"It isn't really necessary, Harry. I just thought if Neville was going back we could walk together. I've made the trip many times by myself."
"This won't be one of them. Let me get my cloak."
"Goodnight Harry!" Ginny called as she and Neville opened the door to leave. Ginny pulled Hermione close to whisper in her ear, "You be a good girl on your midnight stroll." Hermione pushed Ginny away playfully. "Go on!"
"Harry, thanks for dinner. It was…'interesting!'" Ginny called, laughing as she and Neville closed the door behind them.
Harry walked back into the room buttoning his cloak and said with a smile, "I don't know if they liked my cooking so much. So, you ready then?"
"Harry you really don't have to bother. It isn't that far…" Hermione began.
Harry grabbed her by the elbow to propel her out the door and said, "Maybe I want to walk you back to the castle."
They walked together down the main thoroughfare of Hogsmeade, stopping periodically to look into a window display of the local merchants. As they passed the darkened bakery, Hermione asked Harry, "Have you eaten here yet?"
"No, not yet. Is it any good?"
"Sinfully good," Hermione said, pulling her cloak tighter around her to ward off the night chill.
"Maybe I'll stop in there tomorrow," Harry said.
They continued on, walking past the Three Broomsticks. Muffled voices and laughter wafted outside, increasing in volume as the front door opened, a pair of swaying wizards spilling out onto the sidewalk. Harry touched the small of Hermione's back, gently steering her into the street, away from the stumbling drunkards.
"That place is jumping," Hermione said.
"Do you want to go in?" Harry asked.
"Oh no. I couldn't eat or drink another thing."
"'at's 'arry Potter!" one of the drunk wizards yelled, stumbling towards Harry and Hermione.
Hermione heard Harry groan and saw him close his eyes. When he re-opened them he plastered a fake smile on his face and turned around to face the wizards.
"Hello," Harry said politely.
"As I live and breathe!" the first wizard said, pulling his arm out of the other wizard's grasp. "It is really you! Look at him!" he said to his friend.
"Yes, Edgar, that's great. Now, let's go," he said, attempting again to pull his friend down the street, while giving Harry an apologetic look.
Edgar, however, was not to be deterred. He removed his arm again and stepped closer to Harry. "I read your interview in The Quibbler, 'arry. I agree with 'ou 'undred percent. You deserve your privacy. Those crazy people sending you all those owls. What kind of wizard does that, I 'onder?"
"Drunk ones," Harry replied dryly, his smile still firmly in place.
"Right you are, 'arry," Edgar replied without a clue that Harry was talking about him.
At this point, Edgar noticed Hermione and a huge smile broke across his face. "Is this your 'oman, 'arry?"
Hermione bristled and Harry's smile turned to a scowl.
"She's a pretty one," he said, making no effort to conceal his appraisal as his eyes traveled up and down Hermione's body. Harry stepped in front of Hermione and said, "Nice to meet you, Edgar. We have to be going. " He turned around and propelled Hermione in front of him, walking briskly away.
"Nice to meet you, too, 'arry!" Edgar called, as his friend dragged him backwards, in an effort to keep him from following Harry and Hermione.
Harry looked back over his shoulder and visibly relaxed. Hermione glanced back, too, and saw the two wizards walking in the opposite direction.
"I'm so sorry about that, Hermione."
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "It isn't your fault."
Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the ground.
Hermione playfully shoved his shoulder with her own. "I see your guilt complex hasn't changed much," she teased. "Everything is not your fault, Harry. That man was drunk. He's the one at fault. He will probably wake up in the morning horrified at his actions, if he even remembers them at all."
"Maybe," Harry said noncommittally.
"Does that happen to you a lot?"
"Every now and then. The villagers leave me alone, but outsiders can't resist."
"You handled it very well."
They walked through the gates of Hogwarts in silence. The brightly colored leaves that the previous week had been waving cheerily in the breeze were now scattered on the ground, swirling around their feet as the wind kicked them from their resting place. The cackle of the dried foliage mingled with the muffled sounds of their footsteps, the only sounds breaking the noticeable silence between them. She glanced at Harry who was looking at her, gave him a small smile and quickly looked away, up at the night sky.
Wondering why she felt suddenly awkward, Hermione searched for something to say to resume their conversation.
"I really like…"Harry started.
"Dinner was rea…." Hermione began. They both laughed and Hermione said, "Go on, you first."
"I was just going to tell you how much I like your hair," Harry said.
"Oh," Hermione said, thinking that was the last thing she expected him to say. When did Harry start noticing other people's hair? She absently ran her hand through her hair, remembering the difficult time she had with it before she left. "I really need to get it cut again, it is getting a bit unmanageable."
Hermione glanced at Harry and found him staring at her. "What?"
Harry smiled and gave a slight shake of his head. "You don't want to know."
"With a response like that I do want to know."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
Harry shrugged his shoulders, "I was thinking that you have always been pretty, Hermione. But during the few years I was gone you have become a beautiful woman."
She stopped dead in her tracks, so shocked at this revelation that she was rendered speechless.
Okay, I was wrong before. That is the last thing in the world I expected him to say.
She stood there gaping at his retreating back. He stopped and turned when he realized that she wasn't walking beside him anymore.
Amusement clearly evident in his expression, he walked back to face her. "You've never taken compliments well, Ms. Granger."
"Why would you say that?" Hermione asked, shocked.
"Because you don't, unless it is a compliment about your intelligence. You…"
"No, b-before…that," she stuttered.
"About you being beautiful?" Harry asked, still amused. "Because you are."
She stared at him, her mouth open in astonishment for a moment. "No, I'm not, Harry, " she said dismissively and started walking again. "It is just so unlike you to give out compliments and comment on women's hair. I'm just a little shocked, is all."
"It's called flirting, Hermione."
"With me?" she asked. "Why would you do that?"
He casually draped his left arm across her shoulders. "Well, you see, I have been flirting with Professor Sprout for a month now and I'm making absolutely no progress. I think I'm a little rusty. I was hoping I could practice on you."
Hermione looked at Harry's smiling face and began to laugh. "Of course you can practice on me. What are friends for?"
"So, how am I doing?"
She thought for a moment. "Remarkably well for someone who is out of practice."
Harry dropped his arm from her shoulders as they walked up the steps to the castle. Hermione became aware of the cool breeze drifting over her shoulder, through the thick material of her cloak, cooling the warm patch of skin Harry's hand had just abandoned. She grasped her cloak around her tightly in a futile attempt to regain the warmth.
"Thanks for walking with me," Hermione said, expecting to continue on alone, as Harry opened the castle door.
"I'm walking you to your room," Harry said firmly.
Hermione paused on the threshold, catching a glimpse of resolution in Harry's eyes that was quickly replaced by a charming smile. Tentatively, she stepped into the castle.
Through the echoing reverberations of their footsteps, Hermione heard the soft thud of the door closing behind them, shutting out the unwelcome cold. The warmth of the castle, which had been her home for 16 years, unexpectedly foreign and familiar at the same time, enveloped her. The click-clack of their footsteps, amplified in the cavernous Entrance Hall, were resounding in her head, alternating between being rhythmically in step, to inconsonance, then back again, which was disconcerting her.
They walked the castle hallways in silence, Hermione focusing determinedly on keeping her footsteps in time with Harry's in an effort to calm the uneasiness the inconsistent rhythm caused, giving her mind something else to do besides think, analyze and jump to conclusions.
They arrived at a bronzed suit of armor, one of a hundred scattered throughout the school, each one as innocuous as the last. Hermione heard her voice from a distance say "Socrates," and the knight stepped aside, revealing a door that was swinging open inwardly into the passageway leading to the Professors' residences.
Hermione stopped in front of a large oak door with an ornately engraved woman on it. She turned, startled at how close Harry was, to see him staring at the door.
"Who is that?"
Hermione turned to look at her door and smiled. "Athena, Goddess of Wisdom," she said sheepishly, turning back to face Harry. "A bit over the top, don't you think?"
Harry smiled. "A bit, but fitting."
Hermione gestured to the other doors down the hall. "Each door is engraved to reflect the essence and personality of the occupant. When I opened the door the first time, this is what it conjured." She looked again at the door, seeing for the thousandth time the goddess. She held a book in one hand and in the other a shield adorned with an owl in the top left corner and a unicorn in the bottom right, dissected diagonally by a lightning bolt.
She turned and caught the faint scent of Harry's soap as he leaned across her to open the door to her room. Clearing her throat, she said, "Thanks so much for dinner. It was really wonderful."
"You're welcome." Harry's eyes were roaming over her face as if memorizing every detail. His eyes settled on hers as he touched a strand of her hair and gently threaded it between his fingers. He leaned forward and for a split second Hermione thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered, "Goodnight, beautiful." He softly kissed her on the cheek, turned and walked down the corridor.
Hermione closed the door to her room and collapsed backwards against the door.
Professor Sprout doesn't stand a chance.