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!